Requiem For A Sheriff
by duskwatcher2153
Summary: ON HIATUS. Apologies to all, updating is taking longer than expected. *If the power of life was in your hands, could you stand by and let your loved ones die? Immortality can be a curse or a gift. Charlie Swan has to determine which he thinks it is.*
1. Chapter 1 An Evening with Colt

**A/N Some of you will recognize this chapter as the one shot I wrote sometime ago called " An Evening with Colt". I am re-posting it now as the first chapter and expanding on it. We're going to start off in Charlie's POV but from Chapter 2 on, we'll be staying in third person.**

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**Charlie Swan, Post Breaking Dawn**

Sometimes a man's gun is his best friend. Sometimes it's his only friend. Sometimes it's alot more than just a gun.

I stared down the barrel of my shotgun. It would certainly be the deadliest way. There'd be no chance of the doctors patching me up if I used the shotgun. It'd most likely blow the back of my head into the next room.

Problem was with the shotgun, my fingers couldn't quite reach the trigger with the gun in my mouth. I pulled the barrel out of my mouth and grimaced against of the taste of the gun oil. I took another swig from the bottle of Wild Turkey that sat by my elbow and washed the taste from my mouth. The whiskey burned my throat as it went down, but it was a good burn and I'd been getting used to it.

That left the revolver, then. I picked it up from the table and weighed it in my hand. This revolver had been a gift from my father on my seventeenth birthday. I still remembered the look of pride on his face as I opened the box.

"I want you to have this now that you're becoming a man," he said while my mother hovered in the background. "They say to walk softly and carry a big stick. Well, this will certainly beat any big stick!" He had laughed with that huge braying laugh of his.

Two years later he was dead of pancreatic cancer. One day he went to the doctor saying he wasn't feeling well, and six weeks later he was gone. My mother never really got over his death. Bit by bit, I watched as she seemed to just fade away. The two of us were more like each other than I had ever been like my dad, and neither Mom nor I were very expressive people. The two of us rattled around that big house for the last three years of her life. A week could go by without us exchanging more than ten words to each other. I think that's when I picked up the habit of silence.

I took another swig of the Wild Turkey. I'd graduated from beer sometime after Billy had died. We'd lost him to a kidney infection because of a compromised immune system. I still had trouble watching the Mariners. Some jerk player would make a stupid play and I'd expect to hear Billy's voice cussing him out.

The telephone rang, but I let the answering machine pick up. There wasn't anyone I was going to be talking to. I pulled out the box of shells for the revolver and lined up six of them on the table. Why six of them, I couldn't say. Really, the first one had better do the trick. Guess it was just habit. Do it right, do it completely. Follow through. The habits of a policeman.

After my mother died, it had been just me. I was working at Portland State University as a security guard and the guys dragged me out to a college bar after work one night. There I met a crazy, vivacious brunette wearing what looked like her underwear on the outside of her clothes, enough necklaces for three girls and looking more like Madonna than Madonna herself. She said her name was Renee, and when she grabbed me by the arm and challenged me to buy her a drink, I was shocked. That first night she had talked enough for both of us. I guess I must have said "uh-huh" and "oh, really?" enough to keep her talking and to lead her into thinking I was a good conversationalist, because she asked me to take her out the next night.

Renee was like opening a window to let some fresh air into the stale rooms of my life. Unpredictable, spirited and full of irrepressible enthusiasm, she was more alive, more full of life than anyone I had ever met. I don't know what she saw in me. Five years older than her, I was the yin to her yang. She'd been floating around the country with one group of friends or the other, and I think the very things that she found attractive in me, my stability and my roots, were ultimately the things that drove her away.

But we had some good times together. Six months after we met, she was pregnant. Three months after that, we were married. Once I graduated from the academy, I sold my parents' house and got a job as a patrolman in Forks. Renee seemed to take to our married life real well. She enjoyed decorating our new home and some of the best times I remember in our marriage were of us decorating the nursery, getting ready for Bella. I never did get around to telling Renee about the Carlson kid. With her being pregnant, I wasn't going to lay another burden on her. But I did think about him every day. I never drew my service revolver again without seeing his face flash before me.

If I had to name one shining moment in my life, it would have to be the birth of my daughter. I was there when Renee pushed her out after eighteen hours of hard labor. The doctors had me cut the umbilical cord, and placed this tiny squalling child in my arms. Something changed in me as I held her, something seismic. This little seven-pound being had me wrapped around her finger just by waving her tiny fist in the air.

Renee was a good mother, if somewhat forgetful. I'd come home from a day shift to find the two of them covered in paint from a finger painting session gone crazy, the kitchen dark and cold, no dinner in sight. I felt it when Renee's restlessness started to build. I could tell the routine and the triviality of life with a toddler was starting to wear on her. Small town life with its slow pace was never going to be enough for her. I just had no clue as to what else I could give her.

It wasn't really a surprise when she said she was leaving. What cut me to the core was her taking Bella with her. Bella was a serious, thoughtful child with huge brown eyes. She would crawl into my lap to have me read a story to her, and I'd be overcome with the strength of my feelings for this small gentle being. The day Renee left, I watched from the driveway as Bella stuck her small hand out of the car window to wave goodbye to me as the car pulled away. The image of that haunted me for a long time.

I picked up the photograph I had on the table. It was just a grainy Polaroid, but it was one of my favorites. I was kneeling on the front lawn, my arm around Bella, who must have been around four at the time. She was in her bathing suit, wet from running through the sprinkler and she had on some kind of swim float she was holding up around her waist. We were both looking at the camera and her smile could have made angels weep.

The revolver wasn't really dirty, but I decided it was worth cleaning. I disassembled the gun and pushed the brush through the bore. That's one thing my father taught me. Take care of your guns and they'll take care of you. I almost started laughing at that. Yes, this gun was going to take care of me, all right.

I started living for the times when Bella would come visit. Those were the bright times in my life. The rest of the time, I just held my nose to the grindstone, just trying to be the best cop I could. The people in Forks are good people and they deserve a good police force. Mostly, it was quiet. We had a rash of hate crimes against some of the Quileutes when a family of white supremacists moved into town. A few months later, though, they'd moved on. But otherwise, it was mostly routine. Kids breaking into the summer homes or drunk driving violations. Occasionally domestic disturbances, but I was getting to be a pretty good mediator and able to defuse some of the less violent clashes. They even made me Chief.

When Bella called me and asked if she could come live with me in Forks, I said yes immediately. I talked it over with Harry and Sue Clearwater, who had teenagers of their own. They were my closest friends, next to Billy, of course. Sue especially, was helpful and gave me some tips on what to expect. I'm glad she did, otherwise I'd have met Bella at the airport with teddy bears and lollipops. What I knew about teenage girls wouldn't fill a shot glass.

As it was, my jaw dropped open as Bella came out of the airport gate. She'd turned into a beautiful young woman seemingly overnight. With her being such a looker, I expected the boys to start coming around, but I was leery when Edward Cullen started showing up on my front steps.

Sure, he was polite and respectful. Good student, and I'd never had any trouble with him. Still, there was something about him that was almost, I don't know,_ creepy _is the word that comes to mind.

Well, that's when the angst started. Bella was breaking up with him, he was breaking up with her; I couldn't keep it straight from week to week. So I was glad at first when he and his family decided to leave Forks that September. I thought it wouldn't be too long before Bella's heart mended and she found somebody more, well, normal. But, Bella withdrew and there was no getting through to her. I was near the end of my rope and I was contemplating asking Renee to come get her because the kid was a mess. I'd never felt so useless and so helpless.

Billy's boy, Jake, seemed to be making some headway with her and I did my best to encourage that. He just seemed so human after Edward. But the Cullens came back and before I knew it I was walking my baby girl down the aisle.

And then things got really weird.

Let's just say I never looked at Jake the same way. It was like standing on solid ground and having it turn to Jell-O under your feet. Where can you go when everything you counted on as reality was suddenly turned upside down? The Wizard of Oz had pulled back the curtain, but I wasn't ready to see it. I didn't want to know. It caused me more than one sleepless night, but they said I was better off not knowing and this was the one occasion when I thought that might actually be true.

Something had changed in Bella and though she tried to hide it from me, I knew it as surely as if it had a sign on it. This new person was Bella and yet in some way, it was not. As a cop, you start to develop an instinct for when a perp is going to go off the deep end and be a problem. It's an instinct that tells you when you're in danger. The Cullens were never anything but nice and welcoming to me, but the hairs on the back of my neck still rose when I was in close quarters with them.

I reassembled the revolver and ran my cleaning cloth over it. I clicked the shells into their chambers and spun the cylinder. Meticulous to the last, I put the box of shells and the cleaning kit away. The phone started ringing again, but I let the answering machine pick up. Charlie ain't home, tonight, nosiree. There wasn't too much left in the bottle of Wild Turkey.

Soon after Bells got married, Edward's niece moved in with them. And it wasn't long after that, all of the Cullens, Bella included, moved to Vancouver. I felt her loss in more ways than one. But that's when Sue Clearwater came into my life.

Sue had lost Harry to a heart attack several years back and somehow the two of us gravitated together. What a great, great gal she was. Down to earth and rooted, she was a straight-forward kind of woman with a huge dose of common sense. She moved in with me and I'd felt happier than I ever had in my life. Sue brought something to my life that I'd never had before, things like trust and intimacy. She introduced me to joint bubble baths. Warm-hearted, funny and sensual, we had a couple of incredible years together.

It was cervical cancer that took Sue. I watched as she fought it valiantly, but in the end, all I could do was hold her hand when she died.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and felt the water that had collected there. I wasn't going to leave a note or anything like that. I was a man of few words and it seemed best to leave it that way.

I would be using my service pistol, but they took that away from me along with my badge. Meg Quinn, the Town Manager, had put me on indeterminate administrative leave. After Sue's funeral, the liquor thing had gotten out of control and I had crashed the cruiser coming home from Port Angeles. She'd told me to take the time I needed to get my head back together, but time wasn't going to do it. Hence, the revolver. I picked it up off the table.

I hoped Bells would be all right. Somehow, I knew she would be. She loved that husband of hers to the point of irrationality, and as long as she had him, she'd be okay.

Ever the cop to the end, some part of me heard the squealing of tires on a car that was moving much too quickly down the street, headed this way.

My hands were shaking as I cocked the trigger and brought the gun to my mouth. The sound of car doors slamming in my own driveway startled me so much, that my finger twitched and the gun went off. The blast toppled me backward in the chair and I wound up on my back on the kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling, feeling the blood leak from me as an icy coldness started creeping inwards from my hands and feet.

"Oh, God, we're too late!" I heard Bella cry. I thought when you were dying you were supposed to be talking to dead people. Bella was still alive. Why was she here?

The kitchen ceiling faded from my sight and blackness took its place. I heard Carlisle Cullen's voice say, "I'm not going to be able to save him from this, Bella. What are you going to want to do?" Why was Carlisle Cullen in my death scene? The bullet to the brain must have scrambled my wits.

"What do you think Charlie would want, Bella?" That was Alice Cullen's voice. Why the Cullens? It just wasn't making any sense.

"Save him, please, save him!" Bella sounded like she was crying. I wanted to tell her not to cry, I'll be alright, just like I had when she was a little girl. The coldness creeping up my arms and legs was frightening, but I suspected it wouldn't be too long.

Alice spoke again. "Are you sure, Bella?"

"Edward," Bella pleaded, sounding like her feelings were ripping her apart. "Ask him. I don't know what to do."

"We don't have much time. Make a decision quickly or it'll be made for you." There was Carlisle again.

Edward's voice sounded like it was right above me. "What about it, Charlie? Should we save you? Do you want immortality?"

Some primal part of me screamed Yes! I don't want to die! The cold blackness that was creeping inward from my fingers and toes was frightening in its finality.

Suddenly, I felt someone's teeth on my throat. At the same time, I felt a ripping and a burning at my wrists and ankles.

The pain from the head wound was nothing compared to the searing, scorching pain that started at my neck and extremities and worked its way inward. Was I burning in hellfire, I wondered. Had I gone to hell? Had all those years in public service counted for nothing?

Impossibly, the pain continued to build. Each second I thought it was as bad as it could be and then it got worse. I started screaming with the agony. Above the sounds of my own screams, I heard Bella cry, "My God, what have I done?"

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Good time to ask, Bella!


	2. Chapter 2 Waking Up

**A/N** My heartfelt love and gratitude to hellacullen and en-glace for helping me. If there are any mistakes, it's only because I made them after they'd looked it over.

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The pain was measured in heartbeats. An eternity, an ocean of pain had to be crossed in the time it took for his heart to contract tightly, pulsing the blood through his body. Then it would relax, letting its chambers fill up with the next rush of liquid to be forced through his veins, and between each dull thud, there was the pain, surrounding him like air, impossible to hide from. The pain which couldn't be lessened, which only grew and grew, and nothing could be done with it except to endure it, in silence and paralysis.

But then it began to lessen. Miraculously, his fingers and toes started to feel free of it, and the possibility that there might be some kind of relief in sight was so astounding, so heart-achingly beautiful, that his eyes started to leak the last tears he would ever shed. Gradually, the pain crept inward, becoming more and more concentrated in the center of his body until he wanted to rip out his own insides because he was sure they'd turned into molten lava; there was nothing in the world that could possibly be hotter.

Finally the moment came when, with one final burst like a flare of hot gas flicking free from the surface of the sun, the heat was gone. Perhaps, he thought, he was now just a human shaped pile of ashes, all grey and feathery, ready to be stirred by a passing breeze. He laid there spent, having fought through the pain and relishing his victory. But then he began to wonder what victory had brought him and with that, Charles MacAlaister Swan, a newborn vampire, opened his eyes.

The first things he saw were acoustic tiles. There were 256 small holes in each tile, and he could see 640 tiles so, without asking, his brain told him there were 163,840 holes. His brows furrowed; whatever had happened to him, it certainly hadn't hurt his mental acuity. Or his perceptual acuity either. Enhanced it, perhaps.

A face hove into view upside down above him. It had skin like white marble and eyes that were yellow ochre. Not human, definitely not human_._ The short dark hair framed the strangely familiar face. "Hello, Charlie! Glad to see you're awake!"

It surprised him so much that his body reacted before his mind did. His view switched so suddenly, he didn't even realize he had moved until he felt the smooth wall behind his back. He began to pant with fear, trying to make sense of his experience.

He was in a room. He'd just left a hospital bed; in fact, the sheet that had covered him was still settling to the floor. But other than that, it looked to be room in a house, with a desk and leather couch. To his left, large windows showed it was night outside. Besides the one figure he had fled standing by the bed, there were six others. With a shock, he realized they were his own daughter and the Cullens, the family she had married into.

Alice held her hands out, palms down, and tried to speak soothingly. "It's okay, Charlie. You're safe. You're going to be all right."

More shock, more surprise. Although it had only been six months since the Cullens had moved to Vancouver, they were incredibly different. They were them, and somehow they were _not _them. He stared in surprise. Their skin, even Bella's skin, was flawless, pale and cold, like stone. He swore he could see the rush of pale liquid flowing through the veins beneath their skin. Yet, as Alice moved her hands, impossibly, this marble skin moved with her.

Their eyes were all trained on him. Varying shades of the same golden color, eight sets of alien eyes watched him. They seemed as shocked as he; their motionless was unsettling. He blinked, trying to adjust his vision. He was overwhelmed with detail. He felt like he could count the hairs on Bella's arm or the threads that made up the fabric of Carlisle's shirt. He heard the birds through the window, and they pulled at his attention. There was a TV playing softly in a far corner of the house, but he could hear every word as the announcer called the baseball plays.

His attention sprang back to the Cullens. Again, he felt the shock of looking at them. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Bella, his darling Bella, looked cold and pale, and her alien eyes sent shivers racing down his spine. How had they changed so radically in six months?

"We haven't changed," Edward said gently. "You have."

Charlie studied Edward, all the conflicted feelings rising up in him. This was the man who married his daughter, and although he would have liked to have welcomed him as a son, part of him knew that there would never be much common ground other than Bella between them. With trepidation, Charlie moved his gaze to examine his hands. He was naked from the waist up, clad only in a pair of faded jeans and barefoot to boot. He turned his hands over, studying them. They seemed the same and yet they weren't. They were smoother than he remembered, and his summer tan had faded. The two-inch scar on his palm from a hoe Craig Newton had taken to him one time in a drunken fit was gone as well. His arms looked and felt different; they looked like he'd been lifting weights. His gaze slid to his chest, the few gray hairs that had been tangled in the thatch between his nipples were gone, and he'd lost the slight paunch of his belly that had begun to plague him in the last five years. He looked fit, fitter than he had in years. So why was he feeling so strangely?

Bella took a step toward him, and it startled him enough to back further against the wall. "Dad," she whispered soothingly. "Charlie, you're okay. You're safe."

"Wh-where am I?" Even his voice sounded strange, smooth and bell-like, like a movie actor's or a commercial voice-over. But the mere act of speaking made his throat burn. Burning, he remembered.

"You're in our house, here in Forks," Carlisle said. "We brought you back here after you'd…" He shifted uncomfortably. "After you'd hurt yourself."

Hurt himself? It came rushing back to him. The gun. The whiskey. The sadness pressing against his heart, like a hand crushing it, until he'd lost the will or the nerve to keep on going. The gun. The blast that blew him back in his chair, and the feeling that his life was leaking out of his head along with the blood.

He raised a hand to feel the back of his head, but there was no injury there. Nothing but fine hair under his hand. "I shot myself," he said, looking at them for confirmation.

Bella took another step forward. "But we found you in time and we saved you."

"How long have I been out?"

Bella and Carlisle exchanged a glance. "Three days," answered Carlisle.

Three days. Three days to recover completely from a wound that should have landed him in a grave. "Don't lie to me, Carlisle," Charlie cautioned, swallowing against the pain in his throat. He'd just about had it with the Cullens and their 'need to know' attitudes and their secrets. Although why they would lie to him about this, he couldn't even fathom a guess.

"I'm not lying, Charlie," Carlisle said solemnly. "It's October sixth. You've been healed in three days."

"That's not possible."

Esme stepped forward. "It is possible." Her voice was gentle and compassionate. "This is a second chance for you, Charlie."

With his new vision, Charlie could see every detail of the people before him. Some part of him was registering the color of their eyes, noticing the fact that Jasper and Emmett were not breathing, that there was no unnecessary eye blinking from Edward and Bella. He winced a bit at the sight of the suddenly visible scars that crossed Jasper's skin like the lines of a road map. His eyes landed on Esme, even more beautiful than he remembered, her pale skin and leonine eyes enhanced by the caramel color of her hair.

He swallowed hard. "A second chance at what?" he whispered.

"To be with us, Dad," Bella cried, the expression on her face rending at his heart. "I-I couldn't bear losing you. Oh, God, please forgive me…" She stopped, stung by his incomprehension, and turned, burying her face in Edward's chest.

"A chance to build a life with us," Carlisle offered. "It's not the life you knew, but it can be a life all the same."

"Not the life I knew? What then?" he asked, full of fear. Panic was rising in his throat like the mercury in a thermometer. He knew it was going to be bad, whatever they were going to tell him. How bad he couldn't guess.

"A different kind of life. The myths you have lived with, Charlie," Carlisle said. "Like so many legends, there's a kernel of truth in them."

"What myths?"

"Of the supernatural."

Charlie looked at the faces surrounding him, uncomprehending. "What…?"

Carlisle looked briefly around the room, then took a step toward the desk against the wall. Incredibly fast, too fast for human movement, his hand flicked out and grabbed the fist-sized geode being used as a paperweight. Faster than a snake striking, he flung it toward Charlie.

Without conscious volition, Charlie's hand snagged it out of the air with the same lightning speed. He stared at the rock in his hand.

"Now squeeze," suggested Carlisle.

Charlie raised the hand holding the geode to eye level. With gentle pressure, the rock began to crumble and pulverize in his hand until just a fine trickle of sand flowed from between his fingers. Charlie's face began to twist in disbelief, in horror. He looked up at the others, wordlessly begging for an explanation. "Carlisle," Jasper whispered. "He's losing it."

Carlisle held his hand out, holding him back. "He's strong. He can take this," he murmured.

Charlie looked wide-eyed at the pile of sand and pebbles on the floor. "What am I?" he whispered, his breath catching in his throat.

From within Edward's arms, Bella cried softly, "You're like us, Charlie. You're just like us."

"A vampire," Esme said softly.

Charlie's face twisted even further. Jasper thought he'd never felt anyone so scared that still could stand on their own feet.

Charlie began to shake his head. "No."

"You know it, Chief Swan," Carlisle said. "You've always known. You suspected it, but never let it rise to the surface of your consciousness. But you've seen all the signs and the…" There was more; Carlisle kept talking in a soothing, reasonable tone of voice, but Charlie wasn't listening anymore.

"No," Charlie said again. "No."

Carlisle stopped then, watching him, suddenly realizing that it was indeed more than Charlie could handle.

"No," Charlie said to the silent room and the watching faces. His expression twisted terribly; Bella hid her face against Edward's shirt again. "No," Charlie said louder, the word ringing in the small space.

Alice took a step closer to him. "It's not what you think. We've really adapted−"

Charlie was sliding along the wall, edging toward the French doors that overlooked the meadow at the back of the house. The Cullens were grouped around the bedroom door; there was no exit there.

As Charlie neared the windows, he caught sight of his reflection in the window. He stared at the stranger in the glass while Alice continued talking, but her words were making no sense to him. He looked fit and lean, his chest and arms more muscular and defined than he ever remembered being. His belly was flat, and the jeans hung loosely off his hips, the dark patch of hair on his chest sliding in a thin trail down his abs into the waistband of his pants. His hair was thick and curly, the slightly thinning hairline above his forehead was thick and rich once more. But his eyes, his eyes were right out of a horror movie, and they were what finally caused him to break out into full panic. With a wild cry, he crashed through the French doors, sending glass flying, and sailing into the dark night. Even unaware of the terrain, he landed lightly on his feet, like a cat, crouching as the glass showered around him. Above him, he heard the cries of "Charlie!"

The feelings of terror and panic took over, spurring him into action, and he began to run, away from the familiar faces in the unfamiliar room, away from the truth and the expectations, of what he couldn't fathom; he only knew it was more than he could bear.

He was running, running straight out, and it was amazing that it was so effortless. He was in shape like he'd never been before; even the high school track team he'd been on had never gotten speed like this from him. In the dark, it seemed like the trees and bushes were flying past. He started running faster through the night forest and realized that the effort was easy, ridiculously easy. He splashed across a stream, and the moonlight glinted off the drops he kicked up.

He heard voices behind him and knew they were coming after him, so he started running faster, faster than he could believe a person could run. The breeze kicked his hair back, and the bushes whipped behind him as he fled through the trees. Looking back over his shoulder, he inadvertently slammed into a tall pine, showering himself with needles. He bounced back off it and onto the ground. Panting heavily, because that's what he expected to do, he watched as a long scrape across his belly and chest wept a small amount of clear liquid before drying up and knitting back together.

He moaned and closed his eyes, hands digging into the ground beside him. Fear and regret bit at him. What had he become? What had been done to him? He rolled to his side and curled into a fetal position.

A handful of minutes had passed when he heard the almost imperceptible footsteps, but it wasn't until the figure was beside him that he caught the faint overtones of a delicate floral perfume. He heard the rustle of skirts as Esme sat down beside him.

She waited with him as he fought his fear and shame, until finally his curiosity got the better of him. Reluctantly he rose to a sitting position, glancing shamefacedly at her.

Esme brushed her hair back from her face and sighed. "I was 26 when I was turned. It was 1921. I'd lost my newborn son to illness. I was on the run from my husband who beat me. I had nothing and so I jumped off the tallest cliff I could find."

Against his will, Charlie found himself intrigued. There was a gentle femininity about Esme that pleased him, and he'd found her less intimating than the other Cullens. She had always been so gracious whenever he'd come to visit Bella. She'd made him feel gentlemanly and courtly; there was a quality about her that made him want to show her his best face. "What happened?" he asked, without raising his head.

"They brought me to the morgue," she said, smiling. "Carlisle found me there, broken, almost dead. We'd had a brief acquaintance when I was much younger, and he recognized some quality in me. He made me a vampire, as you are. As we all are."

The word made Charlie bolt to his feet. "Vampire," he whispered. He whirled on her. "What does that mean?"

Esme climbed to her feet as well. "It means we are strong, and fast and almost impossible to kill or be hurt." She reached out and pulled a chunk out of the large mature tree she was standing next to. It came off in her hand like it had been a piece of cake. She watched as it crumbled to the ground. "You'll be able to do things you never dreamed of."

He needed to know the extent of the bad news. "Will I…kill?" he asked.

"Not necessarily, Charlie. It will be a struggle, but it will be your choice."

He looked at her without comprehension.

"The burning in your throat−it's the thirst." As soon as she said it, he was aware again of the hot, parched dryness in his throat. He swallowed with effort. She continued, "We−the Cullens−live without killing humans. We stick to a strictly animal diet. But we are an anomaly."

"And Bella is…?"

"Yes, she's also a vampire. She was changed soon after she married. It had to be done, she was dying."

"The tropical illness?"

"No." Esme chuckled. "It was the birth of your granddaughter, Renesmee."

Charlie looked down. A small smile crossed his face. "I never believed the tropical illness, anyway."

Esme smiled back. "I'm not surprised. It was a pretty lame excuse, but it was the best we could do at the time."

"Where is Renesmee?" he asked, thinking he hadn't seen her.

"Rosalie took her to her aunts in Alaska. It would be best if some time elapsed before you saw her."

He looked at Esme, questioning.

"She's half-human," she said gently. "Her scent might prove…tempting."

Charlie's face twisted in horror. "My own granddaughter? I'd be tempted to-?"

Esme stepped up to him, placed a hand on his arm. "You have a new existence, now. While time stretches endlessly before you, discipline is required to build a life worth having. We'll help you build that discipline but it won't be easy." She looked away briefly. "Believe me, I know."

Charlie struggled with the conflicting feelings inside him. "Do we turn into bats?"

Esme laughed, a beautiful sound that echoed in the dark forest. It matched the dappling of the forest floor by the moonlight. "Oh, gosh, no."

"Well, I didn't know." He shrugged. "I mean, after what Jacob showed me…"

"Yes, I imagine that was a bit of a surprise."

He rubbed his face, a bit surprised by how smooth it felt. "You have no idea."

They stood in silence for a few moments. "We should get back to the house, Charlie. They'll be worried."

He stared at the ground in front of him, trying to put a finger on his reluctance to face the others. "I feel ashamed," he whispered.

"Because of how we found you?" she asked gently.

He nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground. "I never thought I would be stupid enough to do something so…"

"Rash? Because you felt trapped and cornered and desperate?" She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I know how that feels," she murmured. "No one will think the less of you, Charlie, because life beat you up."

His gaze stayed on the ground. Moments passed. "Did you know Sue passed away?"

"Yes, I'd heard." She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him. He stood still in her embrace; physical affection was always uncomfortable for him. "I'm so sorry," Esme whispered, her cheek pressed against his chest.

"I…" he started but then stopped. Sue's death still felt like a huge broken rock in his chest, all sharp edges and dead weight. Slowly, his arms rose around Esme. The feeling of being held in comfort, in shared sorrow, was so soothing, it cut through his usual discomfort. It eased the tight bands he'd felt constricting his chest, like shackles around his heart. He held her a little tighter. "I miss her every day."

"I'm sure you do," Esme whispered, her hands rubbing in small movements on his back.

They hugged in silence for a few moments, the night forest making the only sounds around them. Charlie broke from their embrace first, taking a step backwards.

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "So you're over a hundred years old?"

She nodded, smiling.

"You've held up pretty well," he said, grinning at his understatement.

"Thank you," she acknowledged with a nod. "Immortality has its perks."

"Immortality?" His eyes were shadowed again.

"You will never grow old, never be ill, never suffer from hurt or disease."

He shook his head. "It's unnatural." Fear was whipping him again.

"No, Charlie," she said, pressing a hand to his face. "It's supernatural, and that makes all the difference."

His eyes searched hers, seeing only compassion and caring and the splendor of a fulfilled soul. Looking at Esme, Charlie felt a pang of hope, something that had become foreign to him. He was afraid of it, and in a way it almost hurt, the way a hand exposed too long to the cold will hurt as it starts to warm up and regain sensation. Still, he wanted it, wanted desperately to believe in it. He felt like he was watching the glimmer of light announcing a sunrise, the start of a beginning that could be that start of a new life.

She recognized the change in his expression and, linking her arm through his, started back in the direction of home. "You must have a hundred questions."

"Well, that's understating it by a factor of thousands."

Her laughter was lovely, he thought. "So I was running really fast…?" he asked.

"Speed. That's one of the gifts," she confirmed as they continued walking. "Endurance, strength, enhanced senses."

"Enhanced senses?"

"It's night time, Charlie. But are you having trouble seeing?"

"No," he said in wonder.

"Breathe. Breathe deep. What do you smell?"

"The forest, the trees. Wait, there's something…" He sniffed, trying to identify an intriguing scent. It set his throat burning again, and he wrapped a hand around his neck, as if he could extinguish the fire from the outside.

"Deer," she said. "Would you like to hunt?"

"Hunt?" he asked. "My gun is back at the…" He trailed off at the smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, Charlie," she said, grinning widely and taking him by the hand. "Let me show you how it's_ really_ done."

* * *

Show him, Esme! You go girl.


	3. Chapter 3 A Fishing Trip

Bella watched from the window of Alice's room as Charlie and Esme crossed the meadow, returning from the forest. They were talking softly among themselves, and as Esme's eyes flicked toward the house, Bella could see by their color that she had fed. That probably meant Charlie had, too−an excellent sign. Bella took a breath, releasing some of the tension that had keyed her up so tightly. She felt like she'd been walking a tightrope. Bringing Charlie over had been a tremendous gamble and a decision made on a moment's notice. Would he be able to accept his new nature? Would he fit in with the Cullens?

Self-doubt gnawed at her as she tried to review her choice. There had really been no choice, right? She couldn't sit there and do nothing as her father's life leaked out onto the kitchen floor. Guilt raced through her; it tasted like ashes in her mouth. She should have known that he wasn't doing well. She shouldn't have moved to Vancouver with everyone else, or at least should have visited more often. He'd stopped returning her phone calls, and the last time she'd gotten hold of him, he'd sounded drunk−almost unthinkable for the man she thought she knew. She should have known he was close to desperation. A better daughter would have known.

Edward came up behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Stop it," he whispered softly. He might not be able to read her mind, but he knew her well enough now to read her body language.

"I can't help it," she whispered back. She leaned back against him, more grateful than she could express for his presence. "Did we do the right thing?"

He slipped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her from behind. "It's done, Bella. We must look forward now and try to help him adjust." For the sake of his wife, he kept his deep misgivings to himself.

She sighed and turned in his arms. "I need to talk to him," she said.

"Wait," Alice counseled from the bed where she and Jasper were sitting on top of the covers.

"Why?" Bella asked, already on her way to the door.

"Charlie is nothing if not a private man. Give him some time to process things." Alice stopped and her eyes got that faraway look that meant she was trying to _see._ "You'll want to wait 'til tomorrow to talk with him."

"I will?"

"You're going to bet against Alice?" Edward asked with a smile.

"No, I guess not." Bella moved back to the window. She crossed her arms, hugging herself and thinking.

(*)(*)(*)

It was mid-morning of the next day when Bella found Charlie in Carlisle's study, browsing the floor to ceiling bookshelves. "Hey, Dad," she said in greeting, trying to be nonchalant.

"Hey, Bells." Charlie seemed genuinely glad to see her. It was amazing how little he had really noticed of her when he was human. Now it was like he could finally see her for how truly beautiful she was.

"How are you doing?" she asked tentatively.

He smiled sheepishly. "Okay." He paused and Bella suddenly desperately wished she had Edward's ability to read minds. Charlie was an iceberg. One only saw a tenth of what was actually going on with him. "I can't get used to not sleeping."

"Sometimes I miss eating," she said wistfully. "I'll see a commercial for Dove bars, and I remember how good I thought they tasted."

Charlie turned back to the bookshelves, pulling a book down. "You've never…?"

"What?" she asked curiously.

"You know. Drunk. From a human." Charlie couldn't look her in the eye as he said this.

"No. No, oh gosh no." She chuckled slightly. "It smells incredibly good, but no."

"And the others?"

"Carlisle hasn't ever, and Rosalie has never tasted human blood. Jasper was probably the most 'bloodthirsty' among us, but a lot of that was when he was made."

Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"Jasper was turned during the Civil war," she added.

Charlie's jaw dropped. 'The American Civil War?"

Bella nodded. "Carlisle was made in the 1600's."

Charlie's gaze dropped to the floor. "Well, he doesn't look a day over three hundred."

The two of them chuckled, and the tension eased a bit.

Bella took a step toward him. "Oh, Charlie," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I had no idea things were that bad for you."

Charlie shuffled his feet self-consciously, taking a step away from her. "It's not your responsibility."

"You're my father," she protested. "Of course it's my responsibility." She looked into Charlie's eyes. Even with the crimson highlights, she could see the affection in them.

"Oh, Bells," he whispered, raising a hand to cup her cheek. "Always the little mother."

She put her hand on top of his. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too." He smiled at her for a moment before sighing and pulling his hand back. There was a moment of awkwardness between them; neither one was particularly comfortable with expressing the emotions they felt for each other.

He turned back to the books, scanning the shelves. "Thanks for coming when you did. I guess I've gotten a second chance."

"You have eternity now," she murmured.

He smiled ruefully, but she caught a glimpse of a haunted expression crossing his face. "I can't even…" He paused in mid-action, reaching to place the book back, overtaken by his thoughts. Finally, he turned back to Bella. "So. Vampires." He rolled the word in his mouth like it was a marble. "Makes sense. Jacob's the werewolf."

"That's right," she said, smiling.

"I mean, I knew something was up, but I never suspected…" He shook his head in disbelief.

"I have so much to tell you."

"Wait." He held up his hand. "Before you get started, is there anything else I need to know right off the bat?"

"Like what?"

"Zombies, ghosts, Sasquatch?"

She started laughing. "Nope." She put an arm through his. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."

"Santa Claus?" he asked with a smile, dropping the book he held on the table as they passed toward the door.

Her laughter trailed behind them as they left the room.

The book, which had been set precariously on a pile of magazines, slipped. _Sins Of The Father _landed open on the carpet.

(*)(*)(*)

There was a knock on the open door of the room that Charlie was using. It was Edward's old room and had a view that stretched out over the meadows at the back of the house. "May I come in?" Carlisle asked.

"Sure, Doc," Charlie said, putting down his book, _The Fisherman's Bible_. His eyes glinted with the crimson highlights of a newborn. "Come on in."

"You don't have to call me Doctor, you know. Carlisle is just fine." He took a seat on the sofa across from the chair Charlie was in.

"Well, I don't mind. You'll always be the doc to me," Charlie said, smiling.

"It might be better," Carlisle said slowly, "if you became used to addressing me as Carlisle. When we move on, depending on the social structure we assume, it may be best."

Carlisle's heart sank as he watched Charlie's face fill with uncertainty. It hurt him to see Charlie, who had been so sure of his place in the world as a human, struggling to accept his new circumstances. Perhaps because the others he had made had been younger, they'd been more resilient in their worldview. "You're moving?" Charlie asked.

Carlisle nodded. "We'd been gone from Forks for six months when we were called back for you. We can only stay so long in one place before people question our differences." Carlisle leaned forward. "We should all move soon, you included."

"I'll have to go?" Charlie whirled unnaturally fast from his chair and moved to gaze out the window where the afternoon light was streaming in.

Carlisle noted the speed with which he moved. It would take a while before Charlie learned to 'humanize' his movements. "We can go back to Vancouver, but it will be safer for all of us to go soon. People will notice the difference in you. "

"I guess," Charlie agreed. The sunlight set his skin dancing with prisms, scattering light across the room. He shifted uncomfortably back into the shadows of the room. "Guess people would know something was wrong if I lit up like a disco ball."

Carlisle smiled. "We've been presenting ourselves as an extended foster family, but with Renesmee now among us, we've had to switch stories. I don't think the others will mind giving up having to go to high school again."

"How many times have they gone?" Charlie asked curiously.

"Edward's matriculated from high school at least seven times. The others, not as much. It's just as well. I believe it was a mistake for us to group ourselves in a place like a small high school. Look how easily Bella found us out."

"She's a smart girl," Charlie said, pride tinging his voice.

"Yes, she is."

Charlie crossed his arms across his chest. "There was so much going on that I never even saw," he said shaking his head. "You know, that's what gnaws at my pride−that I never even suspected this stuff."

"It's the subterfuge that has let us live among humans," Carlisle said. "Don't blame yourself for not picking up on it. We've had centuries of practice."

A fleeting expression crossed Charlie's face, too quick for Carlisle to catch. Carlisle stood up. "Esme and I are headed out to the reservoir to hunt. Perhaps you'd like to come?"

Charlie turned back to the window, gazing down at his uncovered arm. He twisted his arm back and forth, watching how it sent scattered bits of light around the room. "No, no thanks."

"Perhaps later, then." Carlisle left quietly.

(*)(*)(*)

Bella burst through the front door of the Cullen home. "There's a truck coming!" she yelled at Emmett, who was lounging on the sofa, the TV on.

"Yeah, okay." Emmett shrugged nonchalantly. "Alice probably ordered some stuff−"

Bella cried, "No! A truck, you fool! With a driver. A human driver."

Emmett jumped off the sofa, suddenly realizing the cause for Bella's panic. "Damn!" he said. Through the living room windows that faced the front of the house, he could see a brown delivery van pulling into the driveway.

Edward burst through the front door as well. "Where's Alice? Didn't she see this?"

"They've been gone since this morning," Emmett said.

"Where's Charlie?" Bella demanded.

"Upstairs," he answered.

"What's going on?" Charlie asked, coming down the stairs, dressed in his usual flannel shirt and jeans. He'd been drawn by the shouting voices.

Bella's heart sank as, through the window, she saw a brown uniformed man jump out of the driver's seat and head toward the back of the van. "Where's Esme and Carlisle?" she said, opening her phone. She punched in the numbers for Carlisle's phone.

"They told me they were going hunting," Charlie said. He glanced at the others, perplexed. "What's the big deal?"

Edward ignored his question. "The basement?" he asked Emmett.

Emmett nodded. "That's probably best."

Bella was holding the phone to her ear. "Carlisle!" she said. "There's a delivery truck here−"

Simultaneously, Edward was turning to Charlie. "We need you to go down into the basement _now_."

"Why?" Charlie asked, trying to make some sense of everyone's seeming panic. In his experience, when everyone was panicking was the best time to just slow down.

Edward already had Charlie's arm in his hands and was trying to guide him toward the basement stairs. "Please, just do as I ask."

They all froze at the sound of the knock on the door. Charlie's head suddenly whipped around toward the door, his nostrils flaring.

"Too late," muttered Emmett, taking Charlie's other arm.

"What _is _that smell?" Charlie whispered, trying to step toward the door, but held back by Emmett and Edward.

Bella was wringing her hands. "Dad. Charlie. Don't breathe."

Charlie was trying to shake off Edward and Emmett's hands. "I need to answer the door." His eyes had gotten a faraway look in them.

Emmett and Edward were turning Charlie toward the hall where the door to the basement was. "You have to come with us, Charlie," Edward said.

He started struggling in their hands. "Let me go."

Bella approached him, trying to take his face in her hands. "Shhh, Dad. Don't breathe."

He shook her off and started struggling in earnest. "Let me go!" he roared.

"Dad!" Bella cried, trying to pull his attention away from the scent at the door, but he had gotten a full whiff of it and it called irresistibly to him. "Dad! Look at me-"

With a tremendous roar, Charlie pulled himself free of Edward's arms, shoving Edward halfway across the room; Emmett, however, snapped around and caught him in a half-nelson. "Get off me!" Charlie yelled, rocking back and forth and loosening Emmett's grip around his throat.

Edward and Bella jumped on to the struggling pair and managed to bring Charlie down to his knees. Emmett forced him to the floor, as Bella grabbed his legs and Edward leaned on a shoulder. Charlie began yelling and roaring incoherently, his cries somewhat muffled by the carpet. Bella was almost crying, trying to soothe him. "It's okay, Dad, we've got you. We've got you. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Finally, they heard the rumbling of the truck as it started up and headed back down the driveway. Charlie gradually stopped struggling from his position face down on the floor, and they could hear the truck as it joined the traffic on Route 101. Bella sat back first, and slowly Emmett and Edward released him, rising to their feet.

Charlie stayed for a moment face down on the floor. "Hey, sorry, man," Emmett said. "We knew you wouldn't be able to stop yourself."

"What was that?" Charlie asked, not rising, his arms around his head.

"That's what humans smell like," Edward said.

Charlie rose to his feet and brushed at his clothing. The silence stretched until Charlie spoke. He didn't look at them. "They all smell like that?"

Emmett nodded, smiling. "Some of them even better." Edward and Bella exchanged a quick glance and a brief smile.

"How do you ignore it?" Charlie asked, finally raising his eyes to Emmett's face. They burned with intensity. Charlie desperately wanted to understand. He felt so lost; everything he knew had been turned upside down. He was starting to become comfortable with the speed and strength, and−Jesus Christ−the not sleeping, but the impulses he'd just had were completely out of control. They were right, he suspected. He'd have killed whoever had been at the door, with no more thought than a hungry cat dispatching a mouse.

"It's hard," Emmett said, for once all humor removed from his face. "Sometimes it's really hard." Emmett knew Charlie wouldn't want his pity, but he could barely stop himself. He'd woken up to an angel at his bedside; what had Charlie had? He could understand Bella's wish to save her father when they'd found him bleeding on his kitchen floor, but now Emmett wondered if it had been the right decision.

"Dad," Bella said, obviously casting around for some way to lighten the mood. "Why don't you come by the cottage? The game'll be on soon." Bella didn't even know which game, or when it would start, but it seemed like something was always on. She just hoped it was one of the teams her father followed.

"No," Charlie said, shaking his head. "No thanks. I'll go finish my book."

Behind his back, Bella looked pleadingly at Edward. Edward shrugged but took a step toward the staircase Charlie was climbing. "Maybe we could go swimming later?"

"Later, maybe," Charlie said, without looking back. He turned into the hall at the top of the stairs.

Bella waved to the two men and the three of them stepped outdoors, where they could speak without being overheard. They stopped under one of the huge pines that harbored the house.

"He's unhappy," she said, hugging herself and speaking softly. "He's desperately unhappy."

"Give him time," Edward urged. "It doesn't help that you are constantly hanging over him. He's got to come to terms with it himself."

Bella's eyes widened. "So it's my fault now? I'm hanging all over him?"

"No," Edward said placatingly. "But Bella, we're over here constantly. He can't take a step without you watching him, worrying over him."

"And it's a good thing I do!" she exclaimed, her eyes flashing. "What if he had killed that driver?"

"But what about Renesmee? We're her parents. She needs us, too." Their daughter was still in Alaska, and Edward was missing her fiercely.

"I miss her too," Bella hissed, "but Charlie needs me right now." Bella inhaled to take a breath and Emmett could see she was going to get herself further worked up.

"Listen, you two," Emmett said. "Why don't you just chill a moment? Go call Renesmee and say hello. I'll check with Alice when she gets back and take Charlie fishing. It'll be good for him, he likes that."

"You'd do that, Em?" Bella asked.

Emmett nodded. "Sure. I used to be quite a fisherman, myself."

Bella stepped toward him and rose up on tiptoe to give him a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Em."

He shrugged. "No problem."

Bella started down the path, while Edward bowed slightly to Emmett, a hand on his heart. "Thank you," he mouthed silently, before turning to catch up with his wife.

Emmett watched them as they disappeared among the trees. The sooner Charlie settled down, the sooner Edward and Bella could go be with Renesmee, which meant Rosalie could come home and things could get back to normal. Damn, he missed that woman when she wasn't around. He shook his head and climbed the steps back into the house.

(*) (*) (*)

Emmett pulled the jeep to the end of dirt road and turned it off. They were deep in the woods next to a little used access path to Bogachiel Rearing Pond.

"We'll walk from here," Charlie said, getting out of the jeep, more confident and directed than Emmett had seen him since he'd been turned. It was obvious Charlie felt good being outside after so many days inside the house. Alice had given them the go-ahead, and Emmett was happy to take him. It was a good time for Charlie to take the next step toward his independence, and he and Emmett had always shared a love of sports; they'd been doing a bit of male bonding over the last few days.

It looked to be a typically overcast day, and the grasses and leaves still dripped with the remnants of last night's rain. Emmett unlashed the fishing poles from the roof of the car as Charlie grabbed the tackle box from the back seat.

"It should be a good morning for steelheads," Charlie said, starting down the meandering path among the trees. "They like this kind of weather."

"I used to do a lot of fishing with my brothers back in the day," Emmett said, "but I haven't been in decades."

Even the waders couldn't make Charlie clumsy as he picked his way around tree roots and branches. "Where was that?"

"Sevierville, Tennessee. We used to go for bass on the Little Pigeon."

"Bass, huh? Well, you give steelheads a try. They're fighters." The enthusiasm in Charlie's voice was evident.

The woods were illuminated for a moment with a burst of sunshine slanting through the morning clouds. The dappling of the sunshine through the trees made the leaves glisten, still wet from the rain. Charlie took a deep breath, relishing the damp, green smell of the forest. "Thanks for bringing me," Charlie said.

"Thanks for coming," Emmett replied. This had been a good idea. Charlie had been locked up in the house long enough; the man needed some chance to get out and breathe. They were all a little bit concerned about how Charlie was adapting, but Bella most of all, of course. Hard to say with a man like Charlie, but he'd been quiet, more so even than usual, Bella said. It was difficult to tell he was even in the house most times, quiet as a ghost. He spent most of his time in Edward's old room; doing what, Emmett couldn't say.

They came to the pond's edge, just a small, rocky beach with vegetation surrounding them. The calls of a duck echoed across the water. The far edges of the lake were hidden by the mist but the water was calm and flat, broken only by the occasional flip of a fish catching an insect that had settled on the surface. "Nice," Emmett conceded, setting the poles on the ground.

Charlie opened the tackle box, took out a leader and corky and began tying them to Emmett's pole. "This is one of my favorite spots."

There was silence as Emmett watched how Charlie tied the parts together. It was a companionable male silence, unbroken by the need to fill up spaces with conversation. Charlie's hands moved quick and sure with the delicate parts and the slender fishing line, until he went to pull the knot tight. Then the 20 pound line broke in his hands like a strand of hair. He sighed exasperatedly and began to undo the knot he'd just tied.

"Takes a while with the small stuff," Emmett observed.

"Yeah." Charlie worked on the line, getting it this time, before turning to his own pole. "Do you ever miss it, Emmett?"

"Miss what? Being human?"

"Yeah." Charlie peered up at him, his face inscrutable.

'Not really." Emmett gazed across the water. "I missed my family for a long time. It was hard getting news of their deaths."

"Did you ever go back?"

"Once. Back in '63. I caught sight of my sister, Janine, in town. She still lived in my parents' house, had taken care of them 'til they passed." Emmett paused for a moment, and Charlie could see pain crossing his face. The very faint Appalachian accent Emmett had thickened as he reminisced. "I sent them some money anonymously every so often, but there really weren't nothing I could do. I'd've just scared 'em." Emmett sighed and crouched down by Charlie. "Rosalie and the Cullens. They're my family now."

Charlie nodded, glancing over at Emmett, who was smiling. "Well," Charlie said, standing up with the poles in his hand, "let's see if they're biting."

They waded in the water and began to cast their lines. They'd been at it for a while, watching the sun rise in the sky and the mist being burned off. On the far side of the pond, there was a landing area where boats could be launched and a dock that protruded into the water.

"See that dock there?" Charlie asked, reeling in to cast again.

"Yeah."

"Me and Billy were fishing off the edge of that one time. It was a good place to go for a quick session because of his wheelchair." Emmett nodded in understanding; Charlie's face was alight with memories. "Well, he must have forgotten to set the brakes on his wheels, because bam! He got a hit like there was a tiger on the other side of his line. He's yelling at me, and fighting the damn thing, and it's dragging him in his wheelchair closer and closer to the edge. I'm running as fast as I can, but there's no way he's letting go and sure enough, he and that chair go right over the edge together. I go diving into the water, and fish him out of it to the shore and he's laughing like a son of a bitch, still got the damn pole in his hands. Took the two of us twenty minutes to haul that sucker in." Charlie chuckled. "Biggest catfish I'd ever seen, must have been thirty-five pounds. Ugly as all hell, but boy, good eating."

Emmett chuckled with him, thinking that was as a long a speech as he'd ever heard from Charlie. Emmett watched Charlie's face, seeing the joy in the memories. He wanted to tell him to write it down, that these human memories would fade over time. But then Charlie's face changed. "Damn, I miss him," Charlie said. He turned to shore and waded back out of the water.

That's when Emmett caught the first taste of the acrid scent. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, taking in his line.

"What?" Charlie asked.

"We've got company."

Charlie froze in surprise. He had agreed to go because Alice assured him that they wouldn't run across any humans. The thought of being so out of control that he might attack somebody, might kill somebody, scared Charlie right down to his bones. The close call when a UPS deliveryman had come to the door and his own uncontrollable reactions had horrified him.

But as the rustling in the bushes got louder, Charlie could tell it wasn't completely human; there was a sharpness to it that made him wrinkle his nose. He was pleasantly surprised when Leah Clearwater stepped out into sight, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was dressed in a simple tank top and shorts, and barefoot. Emmett suspected she had just phased and dressed to speak with them.

"Hey, Leah," Charlie called amiably.

Leah's face was hard and cold as she picked her way toward the beach where Charlie and Emmett stood.

"You fucking assholes," she said to Emmett. "Gonna turn the whole town?"

"Leah," Emmett said placatingly. "It's not what you think."

"It's not what I think?" she spat out. "I think you turned another poor soul into a bloodsucker. Tell me I'm wrong!"

"They were doing it for me, Leah. I was dying," Charlie explained.

She looked at him furiously. "So you let them do it? Let them turn you into a monster? Is it life at any cost?" She spit disdainfully at his feet. "You'd be better off dead."

Emmett stepped forward. "Now, wait a minute."

"No!" she cried, her black eyes flashing. She started waggling her finger at Emmett, scolding him like a schoolboy. "You wait a goddamn minute! We sat by on our hands while you turned Bella, that was bad enough. But now you've turned," and here Leah's face twisted horribly with pain, "Chief Swan and you think we're just going to stand by? You Cullens, so damn arrogant. Well, there's hell to pay this time. The treaty is done for sure." She turned to Charlie. "You probably don't even know what you're in for, do you?" Charlie gaped at her, uncertain and abashed by this show of anger. She shook her head, and her mouth turned down. "I'm glad Mom's not alive to see this," she said bitterly and spun on her heel. She bounded back through the bushes in a few quick strides.

"Leah," called Emmett, taking a few steps after her, before glancing back to see Charlie's face. Charlie was stock still, frozen to the ground, his expression absolutely stricken. "Don't let her get to you, Charlie. She's just..." Emmett ran his hand through his hair.

"What did she mean about the treaty and hell to pay?"

Emmett glanced at Charlie, wondering how much to reveal. Charlie was one of them now; he deserved to know it all. "The Quileutes, the shape shifters like Jacob." He stopped, checking on Charlie's understanding, who nodded at him. "They are natural enemies of vampires, the ones that feed on humans. We made a treaty with them years ago that as long as we didn't hurt humans, and stayed off their lands, we were safe on our own."

"So what changed? Did you hurt someone?"

"She means you," Emmett replied softly

Charlie let out a choked sound and turned away from Emmett. Emmett waited while Charlie stared up at the trees. After a long pause, Charlie turned back to him. "Do you mind if we get back to the house?"

"Okay," Emmett said uncertainly, angry at Leah for ruining Charlie's time out. "Are you sure you don't want to stay until we catch something?"

Charlie dropped his pole, and with the speed of a newborn, strode into the lake. In the blink of an eye, he disappeared from sight under the water, only to reappear a moment later. He walked up on the beach, dripping, with a wriggling fish in his hand. With no expression, he dropped the fish at Emmett's feet before heading up the path to the car.

* * *

Give him some time, just some time...


	4. Chapter 4 Striking Out

A/N I bow down and prostate myself before my beta goddesses Michele and Laura. I worship at the altar of your red pen. Please blame any errors on their lowly disciple (me).

* * *

"They're here," Jasper said, something everyone already knew. They'd been waiting for two hours now, and the breeze was blowing toward the house. As a group, they left the house and descended the steps at the back of the house that faced the meadow. Carlisle had asked that all the Cullens attend this meeting that Sam, the leader of the Quileute wolf pack, had called; all the Cullens except for Rosalie and Renesmee who were up in Denali. Carlisle was fairly certain of what Sam had to say, and in truth, Carlisle couldn't blame him. They'd broken the treaty, not once but twice, and although the Quileutes had let Bella's turning slide, he couldn't blame them for being upset about Charlie. Sometimes life forced you to make unpopular choices.

It was nearing dusk, and the sun hung low in the sky, setting the trees on the far side of the field aglow, reflecting the orange light. The deep blue shadows crept across the field like fingers of darkness reaching across the grasses. A murder of crows had nested in the nearby trees and they cawed and cackled among themselves like old women gossiping. The vampires formed a loose line, waiting for the wolves, with Carlisle at the center and Edward and Bella next to him with Charlie. Esme, Jasper. Alice and Emmett flanked them. Bella put her arm through her father's and whispered, "Don't worry, Dad. It will work out."

Edward leaned forward. "Just let Carlisle do the talking. Follow his lead, if he asks you."

Charlie nodded, his eyes round with apprehension. Bella could hear his quick, shallow breathing, an indication of his anxiety, as she was sure the others could. It would be some time before Charlie lost the automatic habit of breathing. The cawing of the crows tapered off and settled into an expectant silence.

First, one wolf pushed through the undergrowth on the far side of the meadow, immensely huge, its head swinging back and forth testing the air. It stopped, its paw paused in mid air as it caught sight of the vampires. Another wolf, then another and another took shape, emerging from the bushes, as silent as fog. Bella recognized Paul and Brady, Seth, Leah and Collin by their markings, their large liquid eyes betraying the human intelligence behind them, insanely quiet for such huge animals. Jacob was not with them, she noted. There was a rustle, finally, as Sam, the leader of the wolves, stepped forward in his human form, striding across the field, stopping half-way. His face was hard, unforgiving and almost disdainful as he surveyed the line of vampires, Charlie in particular.

"Good evening, Sam," Carlisle greeted him, his voice low and modulated.

"I can hardly believe my eyes," Sam answered curtly.

"It was a choice we had to make," Carlisle tried to explain. "I'm sure if you'd-"

"No," Sam said flatly. "There is no choice."

"Sam," Charlie called, stepping forward before Edward could lay a warning hand on his arm. "Please don't start picking fights-"

"I don't know who you are," Sam said coldly. "Charlie Swan has died, and you are just the shell, the virus that animates his cold body."

"Sam," Charlie objected. "I've known you since you were a boy. Just because-"

"NO!" Sam roared. "I will not listen! You are no longer Charlie Swan." Charlie took a step backward, stunned by Sam's denial.

Behind Sam, the wolves flattened their ears and lowered their heads. Lips began to curl, and the low throaty rumbling of growls floated on the air like warning flags. Sam crossed his arms and raised his chin. "The treaty has been broken. You have until sunset tomorrow. After that, if you are still here, we attack."

"Please, Sam," Carlisle pleaded. "For the sake of what has been between us as friends, I ask you to reconsider this."

"Tomorrow at sunset," Sam warned. "We're not going to tolerate your kind among us anymore, threatening our lives, our well-being. Any vampire found west of Seattle will be killed."

"Well, hey now." Emmett took a step forward, protesting. "What makes you think that you could-"

"Emmett," Carlisle said, cautioning him. Carlisle took a step toward Sam. "The Quileutes have always honored the treaty, and it has been my privilege to be their friend. If you wish us to go, then we will."

Sam's stance softened slightly. "I'm sorry it has to end this way. But your presence here has been a continuing problem for us." He looked around behind him at the wolves arrayed in a semicircle. "'I can't speak for Jacob. He may follow you. But you can't stay here any longer." Sam's eyes flicked to where Charlie stood. "I wish you a quick death, Charlie," he said softly, "because I think you'll soon find you'll desire it."

"Sam!" Bella protested.

But Sam's eyes said he wasn't backing down. "Farewell, Cullens." He turned on his heels and strode back across the field where he had come from.

Carlisle raised his hand. "Farewell, Quileutes. Go in peace."

The wolves followed Sam back into the forest, casting an occasional glance over their shoulders. There was the flutter of wings as a flock of crows took flight from the trees, rising as one, unusually silent. Bella put her arm through her father's. "Don't listen to them, Dad."

Carlisle ran a hand through his hair. "Well, I was afraid this might be the tipping point, but don't take it personally, Charlie. We've outstayed our welcome in these parts."

Charlie said nothing, but Bella's stomach clenched as she saw the haunted look in his eyes.

"I think it's really rather arrogant of them to say where we can and cannot go," Jasper said, his arm around Alice.

Carlisle shook his head. "These are their homelands. I don't think any of us want to fight them."

"Damn, I wish I could see them," Alice said, shaking her head.

"They're upset and on edge. Becky Ateara was killed last night," Edward said.

Charlie raised his head. "Killed? By who?"

"They don't know. She was home alone. Logan, her husband, found her."

"What a shame," Carlisle said, shaking his head. "She was due in January."

"She was expecting? Oh, that is tragic," Esme said, snaking an arm around Carlisle's waist.

"Mark Nesbit's been over there, but they're not finding anything," Edward added. Mark had been Charlie's second-in-command on the police force. He'd taken over temporarily when Charlie had been suspended.

"Nothing?" Charlie asked.

"They've been all over it as wolves. There were no unusual scent tracks. It's made them uneasy."

"So they're blaming us?" Jasper asked.

"No, not blaming us, per se," Edward answered. "But they're wondering if this is something else we've brought down on their heads."

"I'm sure after the army of newborns and the Volturi, they're wondering what else is out there," Bella added.

"After who?" Charlie asked.

"I'll tell you later," Bella murmured.

"There shouldn't be too much to pack," Carlisle said, looking at his watch. "Shall we say everyone be ready to go at 3 am?

"Most everything is already in Vancouver anyway," Esme said, as the group turned back toward the house. "I'll miss this house though."

"Perhaps in a few generations we can return," Carlisle said, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Charlie pulled his arm from Bella's. "Alice, can I talk to you a minute?"

Alice glanced at Bella. "Sure," she agreed.

Charlie looked at the curious faces that had stopped and turned toward him. "Alone," he clarified.

"Let's go for a walk," Alice suggested, ignoring Bella's frown.

Bella watched as Alice threaded her arm through Charlie's. Together, the two of them set off across the field.

Edward put his arm around Bella, and pulled her toward the house. "Come on," he urged her. "They'll be back soon."

"What does he want to talk to her about?" Bella asked him, glancing over her shoulder at the receding pair.

Edward sighed. He knew his wife was deeply concerned about his father-in-law, but there was also a time when his ability robbed people of their privacy, a thing he hated about telepathy, being deeply private himself. Still, he answered her truthfully. "He's not sure," he said, watching as Alice and Charlie slipped into the tree line to the west. "He's mostly wondering about himself."

Bella frowned, wishing she could hear.

"Come on," Edward urged. "We should check the cottage for anything we don't want left behind."

"Alright," Bella agreed reluctantly, letting herself be pulled along.

(*) (*) (*)

Five hours later, Bella came bursting into Alice and Jasper's bedroom, where they were sitting on the bed, a photo album between them.

"What did you say to him?" Bella cried, her eyes flashing as she waved a piece of paper in her hand.

Alice stood up and faced Bella. "I answered his questions truthfully."

"He's left us!" Bella cried. "Did you know that? And you said nothing?"

"Bella," Alice said reasonably. "I know you love him. I know you want to take care of him. But he's been miserable here with us."

"So we're supposed to let him just wander by himself out there?" Bella demanded. "God! What if something happens to him?"

"He's a vampire," Jasper said. "What can happen to him?"

"Anything! Everything!" Bella stepped up to Alice and grabbed her arm. "Can you at least assure me he'll be alright and he'll be back soon?"

"Oh, sweetheart." Alice pulled Bella into her arms, hugging her stiff form. "The future isn't written in stone for any of us. It changes with every decision, every day." She pulled back to look Bella in the eye. "But know this. He has more chance of finding himself and his happiness without us than with us."

"I couldn't stand it if I lost him," Bella whispered, the paper she held slipping from her hand.

"I know, I know," Alice said, pulling Bella close and hugging her tightly. "But if you love Charlie, let him find his way, wherever that is."

Bella accepted the hug without returning it, stony-faced. "I can't believe you did this, Alice. I have to speak to Carlisle," she whispered, then turned and sped from the room.

Jasper picked up the note.

_Dear Bella:_

_I know you'll want to come after me, but please don't. _

_Please thank the Cullens for all they've done for me. Let them know I'm heading north, and will be out of the area by dawn, like the Quileutes asked._

_I love you. Please don't look for me._

_Charlie_

Jasper looked up. "What _did_ you say to him?"

Alice looked at him seriously, her finely drawn, petite features making her look almost like a china doll. "I said that with eternity stretching in front of him, he should follow his heart on how to fill it."

"Good advice," Jasper said, sitting down on the bed and drawing her onto his lap. The difference in their heights made it easy for Alice to lean her head on his shoulder. _She is like a china doll, _Jasper thought, _my fragile, beautiful china doll._

Alice leaned her head against his shoulder. "I hope it takes him where he needs to go," she whispered.

"Me, too, darling," Jasper murmured, stroking her hair. "Me, too."

(*)(*)(*)

Charlie was in his jeep, just twenty minutes out of town, when he became aware of something in the woods that was pacing him. It wasn't until 101 took a turn east that he realized it was a one of the shape shifters in wolf form. Coming around a turn, his headlights caught a figure standing in the middle of the road. It was Seth Clearwater, barefoot and dressed only in cut-offs, his chest heaving with exertion.

Charlie pulled over to the shoulder of the road, sending gravel spinning. He jumped out of the car. "Damn fool!" he shouted, slamming the car door shut. "I could have run you over."

"I wanted to make sure you stopped," Seth said reasonably.

Charlie had a hard time staying mad at Seth. The kid was always so open and amiable; it was like getting mad at a puppy dog. "By using your body as a wall? The jeep would have won, son."

"You're not leaving with the others?" Seth asked.

Charlie sighed and ran his fingers across his mustache. "No. I'm heading out by myself."

"It wasn't my idea to-" Seth started apologetically.

Charlie held his hand up. "I never thought it was. You know, with everything that had gone on before, even before this-" He indicated himself with a wave of his hand. "I needed to get away for a while."

"Things haven't been easy, have they?"

"Not for any of us," Charlie said, thinking that Seth had lost his father and his mother in pretty quick succession.

"Not for any of us," Seth echoed as they each saw the pain of loss in the other's eyes. Loving and losing the same people gave them a bond that was beyond words, a bond of shared grief that would lie at the bottom of their hearts like a still pond.

There was a pause as a solitary car passed them on the other side of the highway.

"Did they…force you?" Seth asked.

"No, no, it was nothing like that." Charlie scuffed his feet. "It's just…" He looked up at the horizon. "I've got to come to terms with what I am now. By myself."

Seth nodded.

"And if I have to practice controlling this thing, I'd rather do it far away, from where there's people I know."

"Makes sense," Seth agreed.

It hurt Charlie to have to walk away, just when it seemed the Quileutes needed him. The news of the murder weighed on him. "How are Quil and Logan doing?" Charlie asked.

"It's hard. It's hard on all of us." Seth stared at the ground for a moment. "I can't hardly believe one of our own would do such a thing."

"What makes you think it was one of your own?"

"Who else could it be? There wasn't any scent around, no unusual cars. Only thing around was Quileute."

"How was she…?"

Seth grimaced at the ground. "Looks like a stabbing, almost like an ice pick." His face turned uneasy, as if he was feeling physically ill. "Both eyes."

"Were there defensive wounds?"

Seth nodded unhappily. "Scratches on her face and arms."

_Grisly_, Charlie thought. "Did the feds show?"

"Mark was calling them in. They've got to go through Indian Affairs, since it's on the rez."

"Well, that's good."

Seth snorted derisively. "They're useless. We're better off without them around."

"Well, you should take what help you can get."

They paused as another car approached, its headlights creating twin cones of light that sped past them. "Where are you headed?" Seth asked.

"I don't really know. North, I guess. Somewhere uninhabited. I always wanted to climb Mt. McKinley."

"You got my phone number, right?"

"Yeah, I got it." Charlie shuffled his feet. "Take care of your sister."

"I will. Good-bye, Charlie."

Charlie stuck out his hand, but Seth bypassed it completely, enveloping him in a hug. Charlie was not a small man, but it just pointed out how much Seth had grown as Charlie barely came up to his shoulders. Charlie's nose wrinkled at the smell; yes, there was a faint whiff that called to the bloodlust, but the acrid, slightly sour smell of wolf overpowered it.

"Take care of yourself," Charlie said hoarsely, stepping quickly out of the hug and turning back to the car before his face could reveal the pain he was feeling.

As he drove away, Charlie could see Seth, barely illuminated by the taillights and standing in the middle of the road again, his hand raised in farewell.

* * *

A/N So, Charlie is on his own. Raise your hand if you think he's headed for trouble.


	5. Chapter 5 The Heart of Spring

A/N Quick shout out to my betas, Michele and Lauara. You guys are the best.

"Hey, Peg, another pitcher here."

Peg LeFleur stubbed her cigarette out, slid off of her stool and ambled over to the draft spigots. She poured a pitcher and brought it over to Frank Vaillincourt, who threw a bill on the counter before turning back to his table. Peg had been working at Olafson's Tavern for nearly fifteen years and could pour beer in her sleep. Olafson's had a roster of regulars, most of whom were ranchers like Frank: tan, weathered men who were the same color as the highly polished mahogany bar. They came for the satellite TV, the cold beer and a chance to talk about the Canucks or the calving season. It had a juke box and a pool table, a couple of tables and a pair of pinball machines.

Peg was as down-to-earth as the men she served. She still had a nice figure for a woman twice divorced and kept herself in good condition by regular hiking and cutting her own cord wood. Her good cheekbones helped her look younger than her thirty-eight years, and her hair, the shade of which was called Dark Auburn Cinnaberry, was kept up in a loose twist. She got asked out by the townies on almost a weekly basis, but turned all the regulars down, preferring to keep her professional life and social life separate.

The bell on the door tinkled, and a stranger walked in, shaking off the light snow that had settled on his hair and shoulders. New faces weren't too unusual in summer and fall when the hunters and fishermen came out to this remote corner of British Columbia, but this was February. _Must be someone's brother or brother-in-law_, she thought as the stranger settled on a bar stool. He unzipped his parka, but strangely kept his sunglasses on. That he had sunglasses on at all was remarkable enough; it was black as pitch outside.

"Hey there," she said. "What can I get you?"

"Glass of draft would be good," the stranger said. Peg got a closer look at him, and was impressed by what she saw. Thick mustache, rugged good looks, and he was nicely broad in the shoulders as he shook off his parka, draping it on the stool next to him.

She slapped down a coaster and set the foaming glass in front of him. "That'll be two bucks."

"Any chance that TV is working?" he asked, pulling out his wallet and indicating with a nod of his head the TV mounted in a corner over the bar.

"Sure. What are you interested in?"

His teeth flashed as he grinned behind his sunglasses. "Super Bowl's on tonight."

"Well, let's see how they're doing," she said companionably, fetching the remote.

The TV sparked to life, and she flipped through the channels before the familiar theme song sounded through the TV speakers. "Who's playing?" she asked.

The stranger stared up for a minute. "You know, I don't even know. I've been out in the back country for a while."

"Well, let me fill you in, honey. You're _still_ in the back country," she said saucily before sauntering away to get a refill for Jon Paul.

The stranger stayed, watching the game as the night wore on. Every now and then he brought the glass to his lips, but an hour went by and he still hadn't asked for a refill. The bar started to empty out early; apparently there weren't too many American football fans in this corner of the world, and it was a Sunday night after all.

"You sure know how to nurse a drink," she remarked, washing glasses behind the bar and setting them on a rack to dry.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he admitted, swirling the beer in the still half-full glass.

Behind her, the commercials droned on. "What brings you out this way? We don't get many new faces in February."

He paused for a moment, as if trying to remember. "Just kind of wandered up this way, I guess."

She nodded. She'd seen this type before, solitary men who wandered the vast, unpopulated areas of northern Canada. Most men were like dogs; they liked to travel in groups, and they enjoyed a pack hierarchy. But some men were like cats, slipping in and out of towns with hardly a trace and only themselves for company, pushed along by their whims. They might have been called mountain men in an earlier time, but usually they found a spot to hunker down for the winter. "What's with the sunglasses?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, touching them self-consciously. "I, um, the lights. Sensitive eyes."

"Okay," Peg said. She'd been around men long enough to tell when they were lying but if he didn't want to tell her the truth, she wasn't going to pry. Maybe he was wanted for some crime or the other and was afraid of being recognized. He certainly seemed pleasant enough; if he was wanted, she'd be willing to bet dollars for donuts it wasn't for a violent crime.

"What town is this anyway?" he asked, a small smile signifying he knew it was an unusual question.

"Chetwynd," she said. "Population three thousand one hundred ninety-three. Well, ninety-two since my rotten ex left town."

"Well, if he couldn't appreciate what he had, you're well-shuck of him," he said, taking the smallest sip from the beer.

"Well, thank you," she said. She reached a hand across the counter. "I'm Peg, by the way."

"Charlie." He reached across and very gently took her hand.

_Damn_, Charlie thought. _It's nice to talk to someone._ He'd been out in the country for months, wrestling with the blood lust, trying to teach himself how to master it. He'd started by staying in abandoned camps, where just the lingering smell of humans had caused his mouth to start watering by the bucketful. He'd accustomed himself to it, and then gradually, he started approaching human settlements, a little closer each time, and always after he'd fed on wildlife. Much to his own chagrin, he'd found he liked the taste of the northern wolves most. Their blood had a thick smokiness he liked best, but he killed them sparingly; they reminded him too much of dogs he'd known and loved.

Last week he'd found a diner along the Trans-Canada highway, and had been able to spend fifteen minutes over a cup of coffee at the counter, listening to people talk, when he remembered it must be around Super Bowl time. He hadn't missed watching one since his honeymoon with Renee, twenty-three years earlier.

So, he'd scouted out this tavern, seeing as how it wasn't crowded, and thought he'd give it a go. And it was working out very nicely. He'd kept his sunglasses on and although a few people had looked at him askance, he'd been left alone to watch the game in peace. The blood lust was there in the background, burning and hot, but it was bearable.

It was nice to seem like a regular guy again, just sipping a beer and watching the game. He and Peg chatted each other up occasionally during the commercials, and he'd forgotten how companionable it felt to just talk and be around people. It was the start of the last quarter of the football game when the last patron of the bar, Jon Paul Dimwitty¸ settled his tab with Peg. Jon Paul stood at the far end of the bar as Peg brought him his change. "Do you want me to stick around?" he asked in a low voice, indicating Charlie with a thrust of his chin. Jon Paul was the last one in the bar and was uneasy letting Peg close up with just the stranger around.

"Naw, thanks," Peg said softly. "He's okay. Besides, I got me a .22 in the ice bin."

"You're sure?" he asked.

"Get on home to Marie," she assured him. "I'm sure."

Peg tidied up the last of the glasses. When she started lifting the chairs up on top of the tables to clear the floor for the sweepers, she found Charlie beside her, getting the other chairs.

"You don't have to do that," she said.

"I'm happy to help out," Charlie said. "Makes a man feel useful."

She flipped another chair and set it seat down on the table. "What else did you do to feel useful before coming to my bar?"

"I used to be a cop down in Washington State."

"Used to be?"

"Yeah." Charlie looked down. "I'm not going back."

Peg didn't ask why, figuring he'd only lie to her again, but she felt pretty sure her earlier guess of him running from some kind of justice was probably pretty close to the mark. Embezzlement was her first guess. Still, he was an attractive man; he seemed smart and polite. Maybe it was just relationship problems. Lord knows, she'd had a few of those in her time.

With the last of the chairs off the floor, Charlie drifted back to his stool. "You don't mind me staying here until the end of the game?"

"Nah," she said. "Maybe I'll share a brew with you."

"Well, I'd like that very much," he said, grinning. Her company was like a camp fire in the middle of a dark forest; he felt himself drawn to it, more than he could ever remember being taken by a woman. And she smelled so good. He'd forgotten how good women smelled.

_Boy, that smile is devastating_, she thought as she poured herself a draft. _Where the hell has he been all my life?_ She set the beer down and then came around the bar to sit beside him. "How are they doing?"

"I can't believe the Seahawks are leading. They could win this thing, and I almost missed it," he said, shaking his head.

She took a sip of beer. "Maybe if I turned the lights down, you could take off those sunglasses."

Charlie froze for a moment, but then answered her slowly. "Um, sure. That would be okay, I guess." He began to suspect he was in trouble, that he had stayed too long. It was just she was so nice, and smelled so good, and it felt _right_ to be sitting at a bar with a fine looking woman.

She walked around to the light switches on the wall and, bit by bit, the banks of lights over the tables, the pinball machines, the pool table and the bar flickered off until there was just the light of the TV, several neon beer signs on the walls and one small spotlight over the bottles of the top shelf liquor. She came back around and sat down next to him as he pulled the sunglasses off and set them on the bar. He shifted slightly in his seat so her head blocked the light from the TV and glanced at her.

"Well, now, that's better," she said, smiling at him. "You have such nice eyes. It's a shame to hide them." He smiled nervously at her, and she leaned in towards him a little, encouraged. Her nostrils flared. "Damn, you smell good," she whispered.

He crossed his arms and leaned them on the bar, trying to close himself off. "So do you," he whispered over his shoulder. He knew it was long past time to leave; his brain was screaming for him to go, but his feet weren't obeying his commands. He liked Peg, he really liked her and something inside him was pounding at him, demanding he get closer to her, closer to her skin, closer than he'd been with a woman in a long time. It was like an undeniable rush of lust, but not quite; there was no heat in his groin, but it was making his head spin all the same. He was losing his ability to see or hear anything that wasn't her.

She felt a prickle of alarm when he glanced toward her, and the dark pupils of his eyes seemed huge. Still, she placed a hand on his shoulder; he was just so handsome and attractive, and she felt like she'd known him forever. "You feeling okay?" she asked.

He hung his head, leaning forward over his forearms on the bar. "No," he moaned, and it was almost a sob. He was helpless; he was physically unable to move further away from her. _If she would go away, if she would just go away, I might be able to fight off the feelings…_

But she didn't. Instead she took a step closer to him. "How can I help?"

The bloodlust won. Involuntarily, his arm flicked out, and it snaked around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he slipped off the bar stool. She gasped at the way he dominated her. _Damn, that's sexy_. She sighed as his lips brushed across her forehead and traveled down by her ear. She turned toward him, seeking his lips, but his head bent further and he nestled into the hollow beneath her jaw.

Suddenly, his arms clasped around her like iron bands, squeezing her tightly and trapping her immovably against his chest. But it wasn't until she felt his teeth at her throat that she started to scream. His hand covered her mouth, and she started to fight, trying to twist in his arms, but there was no fighting the strength-the unimaginable strength of his embrace. She started to kick and gasp for air behind his hand as rivers of fire ran around her neck, as hot and sharp as the lash of a whip.

Gradually, her struggles lessened as Charlie dropped to his knees, taking her with him. The liquid was alive in his mouth; it seemed to dance across his tongue. It was good, so incredibly, unimaginably good. He went weak in the knees, lost in the pleasure of it. He knelt on the tavern floor among the stools, unaware of the woman dying in his arms, only able to think of the liquid gushing rhythmically into his mouth and the thudding behind it, driving it like a huge bass drum.

The blood poured into him, sending spears of cold fire down his neural pathways like bolts of lightning. He'd been a desert, a dry, dusty, parched desert, and the blood was rain, bringing forth the dormant life lying under the sand and causing it to bloom in a single night into a riotous carpet of greenery and color. He could almost feel each individual cell as it was awakened and invigorated. It was like being born again, awakening anew to such an intense feeling of well-being, it left him speechless with gratitude.

That was until he opened his eyes and saw the open, unseeing gaze of the woman in his arms. With a horrified gasp, he sprang to his feet, leaving the corpse to slide to the floor. "Oh, God," he cried softly. "Oh, God, oh God, oh God," he repeated, getting louder with each repetition. He backed up, unable to take his eyes off her and the gaping wound in her neck. Horror coursed through him, hotter and more damning than the blood. He'd killed her. She was a fine woman and he'd killed her, more brutally and more ruthlessly than any criminal he'd ever brought to justice in Forks.

With the solid wood paneling of the wall behind him, he rubbed the back of his hand across his face; his hand came away with a large red smear across it. He cried out wordlessly in horror, sliding down the wall to a sitting position, staring at his hand. Dry sobs started wracking him; the pain of his loathing and despair became a physical ache. He put his hands to his tearless eyes and cried for what he had become.

Charlie was at heart a moral man. The older he got, the more he realized the world came in shades of gray, but he still believed in right and wrong. He might not have been a God-fearing man, but he believed in the personal responsibility of the individual, and although he'd been helpless before the bloodlust, it had been his choice to walk into the bar.

He couldn't live with his daughter and watch the disappointment in her eyes. He wouldn't live the life of a nomadic vampire; his conscience denied that option. He only brought danger and death to the humans around him. There was no place left in the world for him now.

Slowly, the cop in him started to evaluate the evidence. He rose slowly from his spot on the floor and over to the bar, stepping carefully around the body. He washed the two glasses on the bar and turned off the rest of the lights. Taking a rag, he polished the bar and stool where he had been sitting. He wrapped the corpse in a blanket he found behind the bar, while avoiding glimpsing her face, unable to stand the accusation he saw in her lifeless eyes. Closing the tavern door behind him, he gently placed the corpse in his jeep, brushed the layer of snow from his car and began driving north.

A couple of hours later, he was standing at the edge of a frozen lake. There were no encampments nearby and no roads leading to this particular area; he'd left the jeep behind nearly an hour ago. He punched a hole in the foot-thick ice and let the body slip into it. He stood staring at the black water as it swallowed her up, the fringe of the blanket waving slightly as it disappeared into the depths.

He turned and began to walk further into the snowy woods. He began to run, but he knew he couldn't outrun the vow he had made to himself - a vow he had made over twenty-four years ago that he would never again take a human life. This was not the first life Charlie Swan had taken. That one, he had promised himself years ago, would be his only one, and tonight he had made a travesty of that resolve.

He'd been on the force for only six weeks when there had been a call about a nighttime break-in. He hadn't known it was only kids, but when a bullet whizzed by his head, all of a sudden it had gotten real intense and serious. He'd come across someone leaving by the back door and had chased him across the dark yard before the cornered perpetrator had pulled a gun and fired off a shot. With adrenaline lighting him up like fireworks, he had rolled across the lawn and behind the trash cans, getting a shot off. His bullet had struck home, incredibly so, for Charlie was not that good a marksman.

It was only as he had stood above the boy, the gun still smoking in his hands, that he'd realized how young the kid was. With shaking hands, he'd called for back-up and an ambulance. The seventeen-year-old kid had died in the hospital the next day without ever waking up. Charlie had never again in his police career fired a shot out of his service revolver. He'd only drawn it out of its holster maybe a half-dozen times.

It had stuck with Charlie for a long time; he'd wake up sweating, his dreams full of images of the wounded kid talking or pleading with him. He'd never told Renee; she'd been pregnant with Bella at the time, and wrapped up in her own problems. She'd never noticed how he'd come home that night with trembling hands and red eyes. And afterwards, there'd just been so much going on with the baby being born, he just never found the right time to say something. But he'd carried it, carried it like a weight in his heart. It was something he'd thought about every day.

Now he'd taken another life, the life of an innocent. It was more than he could stomach; it was more than he could bear. With all his heart, Charlie Swan wished that he could die. But he had not the slightest idea how to accomplish that. So Charlie instead slowed to a halt and raised his face to the grey sky for what he hoped was the last time. He collapsed on the ground, face forward, just as the snow began to fall.

It was a steady snow; it fell for hours in huge swirling flakes, covering the landscape. Silently, it turned the heart of the woods into an unbroken blanket of white. It was pristine and flawless, covering the good and the evil alike. And beneath it, lay the heart of spring, waiting for the world to turn again.

* * *

A/N I love the image of snow...


	6. Chapter 6 Coming Out Of The Woods

A/N To everyone who is reading and reviewing, thank you, thank you, thank you.

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It was her favorite time of the year, when fall was just starting to get a grip on the land. The last of the flowers were dropping their seed heads and animals were fattening up in preparation for the winter. Here in the northern woods, fall came early; already the bite in the air was persuading the maples and oaks to put on their fiery fall colors.

Off and on over the last six months or so, Tanya had been wandering these forests. They'd found Charlie's abandoned jeep back in June, but his scent trail had long been washed away by that point, so she returned to the area whenever she had a few weeks she could spare for the search. She'd been flabbergasted when Carlisle told her what had happened. She'd thought Carlisle would have had better judgment by now. She suspected it was Edward's newborn bride that had goaded the family toward such rash action. There was a price to be paid; there was always a price to be paid for the violation of nature.

Eleazar had teased her as she'd made the preparations for this last trip. "You're sure you can stand to be away?"

She'd stopped and turned from packing the rucksack she was stuffing. "What reasons would I have for staying?" she'd asked, perplexed.

Eleazar had smiled slyly, ticking names off on his fingers. "Francois, Victor, Jeffrey, Lucas…"

Tanya had chuckled, shouldering the rucksack. "They can get along without me for a little while. Besides, Kate can always pinch hit for me, if necessary."

"Yes, but what about you?" he'd asked. Eleazar found her procession of human lovers humorous. He'd joked that she'd slept with more humans than she'd eaten. He was probably right.

"I still have fingers," she'd said, grinning and wiggling them as she pushed past him toward the door.

Kate had come out to the driveway to say goodbye to her as she'd tossed her bag into the Quattro. "It's nice of you to do this."

Tanya had shrugged. "A walk in the woods? I'd do a lot more if Carlisle asked me."

"What do you think happened?" Kate had asked, closing the car door once Tanya had climbed into the driver's seat.

"I don't know," she'd said, gripping the steering wheel. "I imagine Chief Swan thought immortality wasn't an easy future to face."

"Are you sure he's still out there? Maybe he's fled to Europe or Asia."

Tanya had shaken her head. "No, I don't think so. Not him." Her memories of Charlie at Edward and Bella's wedding had been very clear. She'd watched him carefully throughout that day, intrigued by the father-daughter dynamic that had him unwittingly give his daughter away to a vampire.

The man was buttoned up tighter than a church minister. Perennial bachelor, comfortable really only in the company of men, afraid of emotion. She'd seen the type again and again, but where most men swaggered and blustered, there was a disarming vulnerability to him, a childlike shyness. So she'd agreed to help the Cullens with the search, curious to see what kind of immortal Charlie Swan would become.

That was why she was now in northwestern Canada, walking in a stand of white birches as the late afternoon sun filtered through the golden leaves, setting the dust specks dancing. The soil was loamy and springy under her feet, and each step caused a burst of a rich, woodsy fragrance. She was almost ready to turn back when she became aware she was in a 'dead spot' in the woods. There was no birdsong nearby, no trace of the habitual forest paths that deer, wolves, and even mice left behind. There must have been a reason that creatures were avoiding the area; usually, that meant a predator. She could tell a bear had shambled through here some time ago, but there were no recent scents. On a hunch, she started following the curve of the landscape to a dell that was filled with leaves and fallen branches.

There it was, very faint under the deep forest scents, the vanilla-like aroma of a vampire. She took another few steps into the piled leaves when her foot connected with something hard underneath. She brushed the forest debris back until she uncovered a patch of black material that must have been a coat. She reached through the leaves huddled around the body and by the arm, rolled the body until he was face-up.

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered in pity. He was emaciated, the circles around his closed eyes dark and pronounced. His skin was chalky white, and the hollows around his temples and his cheeks were sunken with dehydration. He was unconscious, having starved himself into a comatose state.

She sighed, running a finger down his cheek and brushing a leaf from his hair. Not every human could make the leap into becoming a supernatural creature and a predator. Some were too stubborn in their worldview to accept a different version of reality than the one they had grown accustomed to, and some were too moral and unforgiving of their own newborn behavior.

She'd seen vampires go to ground before, for a variety of reasons. Unable to take the final step of self-immolation, they disappeared under the earth, sometimes for centuries. Even Carlisle had spent some time in this comatose state, before he'd awakened to the possibility of finding himself a new path, one virtually unheard of for an immortal predator.

But Charlie had family wondering where he was and worrying about him. She snaked an arm behind his shoulders and one beneath his knees, bringing him to her chest. His head lolled back and his arm dangled as she lifted him easily in her arms. Gently, she carried him out of the woods.

From the road, she called Carlisle. "I've got him."

"West of Hudson's Hope," she answered. "He's starved, but he's okay."

She glanced at the back seat where Charlie was laid out. "No, he's not conscious."

"I don't know, what do you think should be done?"

"Hmm. I agree."

"I'm happy to take care of him for a while, but I can't guarantee what state he'll wake up in."

"I think you overestimate me, Carlisle."

"Alright. I'll take him up to Kobuk Valley. Kate or Carmen will know how to get a hold of me."

"No, I haven't heard anything either. They haven't been seen outside Volterra for some months now."

"Ha! We should be that lucky."

"All right, then. Give my love to the family."

She snapped the satellite phone shut and glanced once more at the unmoving body in the back. "I've got you, Charlie," she whispered. "I've got you."

Three days later, she and Eleazar were in the cockpit of his bush plane that was outfitted with pontoons, touching down in Catslick Lake. They cruised gently to the shore and secured the plane near the beach. The cabin that Tanya maintained up here was so remote, the only way in for most people was by plane, or during winter by snow machine. With the first onslaught of winter due any time now, there would be no random human hikers wandering by. On the other hand, the Kobuk Valley was renowned for its caribou herd. Tanya liked caribou. They reminded her of her beginnings.

"You'll call us weekly, yes?" Eleazar asked as they started ferrying provisions to the shore. Not far from the edge of the lake, a small cabin sat nestled among the trees. This part of Kobuk Valley straddled the forest/tundra line.

"Of course," Tanya said. "Don't worry, for heaven's sake. God only knows how I've made it all these millennia without you watching me."

Eleazar put the box he was carrying on the shore and turned around to face her. "I can't help worrying. He's a newborn. What if he wakes up insane with hunger? He'll be so much stronger than you."

She headed back towards the plane for another armful. "Only a man would think strength is the best defense."

He stared at her back, frowning. "Only a woman would think otherwise."."

That made her laugh. "Really, I'll be fine."

"I won't be able to come again until the lake has had a hard freeze. I can't land in slush."

"I won't ask you to," she said, smiling and wondering when Eleazar had become so protective. Granted he was the only man in their family, but she was more than four times old as him.

Instead, she decided to take his concern, not as doubt of her capabilities, but as a show of concern for her. She walked up to him as he was putting the last chest of items on the beach and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said softly.

He took it gracefully, but still frowned. "I hope you'll still be thanking me come New Year's."

Tanya walked around to the side of the plane, disappearing inside and re-emerging a moment later with Charlie in her arms. She jumped from the plane's open door to the shore, landing as neatly as a cat. Eleazar followed her to the cabin, throwing open the door for her. "You are entirely too stubborn. You know that, don't you?"

It was a small one room cabin, with a woodstove in the corner and a fireplace. It held an unmade double bed, a desk and two chairs, and a rudimentary kitchen. There was a bearskin in front of the fireplace, and a braided rug over by the bed. It showed signs of disuse; there were abandoned spider webs in the corners, and rodent droppings along the floor.

"Smells like breathers," Eleazar said, wrinkling his nose and using the Volturi nickname for humans.

"I'm sure," Tanya said, laying Charlie down in the unmade mattress. Charlie was completely unresponsive. "I told Victor he could borrow it for the August caribou migration."

That would have been a handful of weeks ago and would explain why there had been rodents. Where humans went, so did their food, which inevitably attracted the lesser vermin.

"Do you want some help cleaning?" Eleazar offered unenthusiastically, fervently hoping she would decline.

Tanya almost laughed out loud at the look of perplexed disgust on his face. "No, it will give me something to do."

"So, exactly why is this a good idea?" Eleazar asked in a last ditch attempt to understand the logic that had brought them out here.

Tanya sighed. "Plenty of game, no humans, no vampires," she said, arching her eyebrows. "Charlie needs to build some trust in himself, in who he is now. He doesn't strike me as the kind of man that appreciates an audience while he does that." She gazed down at Charlie's unmoving face on the bed. "His physical healing will be easy. It's the mental healing that will be touchy."

Eleazar said nothing and shuffled his feet slightly.

"A storm is coming," Tanya said without turning around. "Perhaps you should go"

"Alright then." He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her cheek. "You'll call every week."

"It's a promise," she said. Together they walked out to the plane.

She waved good-bye as he taxied the plane across the water before gaining speed and climbing into the sky.

The first thing she did was sweep out the cottage, including the nests of mice she found. Next, she started a fire in the fireplace. It was not that the warmth was necessary, or even the light, but it was a ritual she practiced every evening when the opportunity afforded itself. From the start of her existence, a fire in the hearth always meant warmth and comfort and security.

She brought in the rest of the supplies just as it began to hail, and she polished and dusted the few surfaces of the cottage. She made the bed around Charlie's unmoving form, using a quilt she'd made herself almost two hundred years ago. During a dry spell in the intermittent precipitation, she went scouting and almost immediately came across a Dall's sheep.

She fed Charlie, bringing the paralyzed sheep inside into the cabin. Gently, she parted his lips with her tongue and let the warm liquid dribble from her lips to his. Pulling back, she watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed reflexively. It was almost like kissing him; the mustache tickled her lips. She preferred her men clean-shaven, but she thought the mustache suited him. She got most of a pint into him that way, before she finished draining the sheep herself. She brought the carcass outside and tossed it against the side of the house. With any luck, it would bring bears or wolves that were unfamiliar with vampire scent and make hunting that much easier for her. _Take out or delivery, _she mused to herself, smiling.

She read for a few hours, stirring the fire occasionally. She undressed Charlie and placed him between the blankets, and then lay down on top of the covers next to him. She stayed there until dawn. The circadian clock was a powerful thing for humans, and she'd seen new vampires who still needed the division of night and day to anchor them.

The next day, the first of the winter cold and snow came. She was grateful for the cold; it froze up the slushy tundra and made traveling through the lowlands that much easier. Occasionally, she would travel along the river to the great northern sand dunes to watch the sun rise.

Her days began to settle into a routine. She went hunting during the day, and often spent time racing across the fields with the caribou herd for the sheer joy of running. Each night she would come in, feed the fire and lay down next to Charlie, letting her presence and scent register in the processes that were still going on underneath his silent exterior.

It was December when she saw a flicker of consciousness. She'd brought in a bucket of snow to melt and had undressed in front of the fire to bathe. Standing on a towel, she ran the sponge over her body, washing away the inevitable dirt and dust. She glanced over at the bed and Charlie's eyes were open. She stopped, sponge in hand, not sure if he was awake or if it was a twitch. His eyes slowly closed, and there was nothing more. She went back to her sponge bath, thinking. That night when she slipped into bed next to him, she did so unclothed.

The next day, she had brought in a caribou and was feeding him, when she felt his lips move beneath hers. She had paused for a moment and when she leaned back over him, to touch her lips to his, she felt the small movement. It was just a slight puckering of the lips, soft and indescribably tender. She pulled back in surprise, but the movement had been fleeting and he was still again. He was looking better, she thought. The regular feedings, if small, were steadily making a difference. He was losing the ashiness in his complexion, and the dark circles under his eyes were lightening.

Another week went by. Several times she came in from hunting and noticed minor things, a change in the position of his hand or a shift in the feet under the blanket. She continued to spend the nights next to him unclothed in bed, hoping to awaken his masculinity and therefore, the rest of him.

It was the winter solstice and Tanya had brought fresh evergreens into the cabin. Their wonderful fresh-cut pine smell filled the small room and granted the bare mantle a measure of gaiety. She brought a bucket of water warmed by the fire over to the bed so that she might give Charlie's still form a sponge bath.

She dragged the covers down to his waist, and wringing out the cloth, dabbed at his face, across his closed eyes. She swiped across each cheek and across his mustache, then down under his neck, sweeping across his strong jaw. Dipping the cloth in the bucket again, she wiped it across his shoulders and into the hollows caused by his collarbones. She hummed an archaic Kolyadkas as she worked, her cloth sliding across the masculine broad shoulders and scattering of hair across his chest. On his left shoulder, there was a faded blue tattoo of an eagle descending, its talons outstretched. Down each arm her cloth traveled, then across the fine hairs that swirled around his forearms to the strong hands with their blunt fingertips. She picked up each hand and gently wiped the palms before setting it back on the sheet.

She worked with the clinical detachment of a professional nurse, but she was in tune with herself enough to know that she was enjoying this gentle exploration of his body. He was a well-built man, and there was plenty to admire. Still, she hoped for his awakening soon. The solitude of this lifestyle was not onerous to her-she'd often lived alone for decades-but his mind needed healing as much as his body had, and he would make no progress until he began to rise.

Pushing the sheet to his feet, gradually she worked down his body, along each of his long thighs to the calves and feet. She swiped around his sex once before rolling his body to the side so that she could have access to his back and buttocks. Traveling down the long muscles of his back, she gently finished her task. When she was done she rolled him back to his prone position and saw his sex had hardened.

Smiling to herself, she thought, _Unconscious, perhaps_,_ but not dead._

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I'm grateful for your reviews.


	7. Chapter 7 Awakening

A/N I want to sing the praises of Michele, whose constant assistance and encouragement has been invaluable. Any errrors are my fault.

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It was some time after the turn of the year when the snows came hard, drifting against the side of the cabin like frozen sand dunes. The winds swept across the lake, howling like wolves and pushing the snow to the shore where it was carved into strange and fantastic curves. There was just a short hour or so in the day when the sun struggled to rise above the horizon only to fall back down into twilight. The air, though, was so crisp and clean, it felt sharp, as if it had edges that scraped as it entered one's lungs.

The sky at night was truly breathtaking. There were times when the aurora borealis threw constantly moving curtains of color across the dark sky like matadors waving their capes. Often, Tanya would slip from the cabin to lie out on the ice to see the heavens turning above her, watching the stars glitter like jagged diamonds and sifting through a millennia's worth of memories.

Hunting was both easier and harder now. The caribou were scattered, but the crust of the snow had hardened enough to support her weight as she raced across it. She kept the woodstove and the fireplace going continuously now; it was as much for the comfort as the warmth.

She had fed Charlie from a caribou and was finishing it herself, the animal half in her lap as she sat on the bed. Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed her arm. She turned; Charlie was watching her, his eyes a deep, burnished gold. She let the caribou slide to the floor in a heap of fur and spiky antlers, its head falling to its back at an odd angle.

"Hello, Charlie," she said in a soft, even voice.

His eyes flicked around the cabin, examining the surroundings before returning to her face.

"It's just you and I. We're in Alaska, in the north country."

His hand squeezed her arm slightly. His lips below his mustache twitched slightly, while his eyebrows furrowed minutely.

"We met at Bella's wedding. I'm Tanya."

His eyes widened slightly at the memory.

"We brought you here last fall," she explained. "It's January ninth. As near as we can tell, you've been out for just about a year."

His eyes moved around the cabin once more before returning to her face. He swallowed once and then spoke, his voice harsh from disuse. "Why?"

"People care about you, Charlie. You're worth saving," she answered softly.

His eyes closed and he was still again. She watched him for a moment, until she was sure that he had withdrawn again, then took the caribou outdoors.

That evening, at her usual hour, she undressed by the bed, and as she turned to crawl between the covers, she saw that his eyes were open. His eyes followed her, and she struggled to keep a small smile from her face as his gaze finally lifted from her breasts to her eyes.

She settled under the blankets and turned to face him. Even though he had closed his eyes again, he had not lost the habit of breathing, and the movements of his chest told her he was still conscious.

"They call this the age of reason," she said, addressing his still face. "As if everything can be deduced and measured and reduced to equations. But science can't explain everything. There are mysteries that won't respond to cold logic."

His faint breathing continued, but there was no other response. She sighed and rolled to her back. "I suppose it was easier for vampires to accept the change when I was younger. The world was more mysterious, more unexplained. We _expected _miracles and magic to happen."

She paused, listening to the fire crack and pop in the fireplace. "Now, science is supposed to have an equation for everything. But as they delve deeper and deeper into nature, they're coming to realize that there is randomness, and an inherent need for disorder in the universe."

"I'm glad," she stated contentedly. "The universe must always hold some mystery. We would be poorer without it." She rolled to her side and tucked her arm under her head so she could watch the fire from her place in the bed. He lapsed back into un-breathing unconsciousness, but she knew it wouldn't be too long before he would stir again.

It would be important that as he started to regain consciousness that she help him find some connection to the world, something to 'live' for. Whether that was family, as it had been for her, or being of service, as it had been for Carlisle, or a mate, as it was for so many, the life of an immortal needed structure, a framework. When eternity was staring you in the face, the endless stream of days was daunting until one learned how to deal with it just as one did in any life, one day after the other. She suspected what he needed most would be a connection to the world, to other creatures. Certainly intimacy would help.

Three days later, she caught a moose. It was too big and ungainly to bring into the house, so she tied it up by its heels and bled it on the porch. Steam rose out of the bucket she set underneath to collect the blood. When she brought it into the house, Charlie was watching her. He had rolled to his side, his head on the pillow, looking quiet but watchful.

"Hello. You're awake," she said, closing the door behind her. She sat the bucket on the floor and shed her jacket and mittens. "Perhaps you can sit up to have some of this?" she asked, setting the bucket by the side of the bed.

He pushed and struggled to rise while she plumped the pillows behind him. The sheet slipped down to his waist and her eyes flicked over the muscles of his chest that were becoming toned again. He leaned back against the pillows and modestly raised the sheet higher. She pretended not to notice.

"Once you start moving around, you'll get your strength back," she said, fetching a tin ladle from the kitchen shelf. She dipped the ladle into the bucket and raised it his lips. His hands met hers as he steadied it and took a sip of the dark red liquid. "It's good," he whispered hoarsely, before taking another sip.

"It's moose," she said, lowering the ladle into the bucket again.

He took another larger sip, before slumping back onto the pillows. He cleared his throat slightly. "How can something so repugnant taste so good?" he rasped, smiling.

"Repugnant?" she asked, puzzled, looking down at the shimmering, dark blood. She frowned, her brows drawing together. "There is a magnificent animal hanging on my porch whose death gave you this blood. Blood is life, Charlie. There is nothing repugnant about it."

Chastised, he was silent again. She gave him another sip. "Have you ever been to Alaska?"

He nodded. "Just around Juneau, though." His cleared his throat, swallowing.

"Well, we're in Kobuk Valley. That's way up north, above the arctic circle."

There was a pause as she set the bucket on the floor and stirred its contents. "I love this area because of the caribou," she said. "They remind me of home." She glanced up at him, smiling, before glancing down again. "I was born on the western shore of the White Sea, where today Norway and Russia meet. My people were fishermen and hunters." She raised the ladle, shimmering with red liquid.

He carefully took the offered ladle from her hands. "May I ask how old you are?" he asked, taking another drink.

"How old do I look?" She shifted back and raised her chin. Her skin was clear and unblemished, pale but beautifully so, matching the light blonde strands of her hair. She possessed classic Nordic beauty with strong cheekbones, and almond eyes which were the color of sunflowers. She was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt that bloused over a white tee shirt and form-fitting jeans. On her feet were a pair of heavy hiking boots that showed a good amount of wear.

He paused, gazing at her, realizing just how beautiful she was. He swallowed once and dropped his eyes. That kind of beauty was intimidating; it made him tongue-tied. "M-mid-twenties?" he stammered, bringing the ladle to his lips to cover his sudden embarrassment.

"I was made when I was twenty years of age. That was over a thousand years ago."

He stopped in mid sip. Staring at the blankets that covered him, he was completely still. She waited for him. Finally, he said," I can't even imagine…"

She chuckled ruefully. "Oh, I can't either. It just seemed to happen." She dipped the ladle in the bucket once more for him before rising from the bed. She crossed over to the fireplace and threw another log on before feeding the wood stove as well. She stood back up and turned to him. "The days pass so quickly for me now, it seems I barely blink my eyes and a year has gone by. I turn around and a decade has passed. I can still remember when a year seemed like a long time…" She paused, her gaze sliding off to right.

She sighed, and came back to herself. "Perhaps you'd like to rise?"

He turned to the side of the bed and let the ladle slip back into the bucket on the floor. "Um, okay." He looked around the room, pulling the covers a little bit further up his chest from where they had slipped. "My, uh, clothes?" he asked. Tanya almost laughed out loud. If he'd been human, he would have been blushing a bright shade of red.

"Over here," she said, turning to one of the chests against the wall that she'd brought with her. She pulled some jeans and a flannel shirt from it and tossed them on the bed.

"Thanks." His eyes glanced around the cabin, obviously looking for a place to change.

"I'll step outside, if you'd like," she offered.

He looked toward the window. The frost covered the panes in a kaleidoscope of ice, and the wind moaned low, swirling around the cabin, trying to find entrance. "It's got to be minus twenty out there," he protested.

"Minus twenty-two actually."

"Maybe if you just turn around." He gestured with his finger.

"Certainly," she said, stifling a smile and facing the fireplace.

He struggled with the clothes for a moment, his long unused muscles cramping with the sudden movement. He struggled into the jeans and slid them up his thighs. "Am I a prisoner?" he asked, pulling on the shirt.

She laughed out loud. "Oh gosh, no, Charlie." She turned around, chuckling.

"Why am I here?" he asked, sitting back on the edge of the bed and concentrating on the buttons.

"Carlisle asked me to bring you. You needed a place to heal."

"So you brought me to the North Pole?"

"Why not? There's a huge herd of caribou just outside our door."

"It's minus twenty-two out there. You can't do much hunting in that kind of cold."

"Humans can't, you mean."

He stopped. "Oh, that's right. I keep forgetting."

She turned back to the trunk and fished out some boots and socks. She knelt down on the floor in front of him, and taking his foot in her hand, started slipping on his socks. "The cold won't hurt you. You can't get frostbite. The extreme cold gets uncomfortable after a while, so I do recommend a coat."

Her hair was the color of corn silk, he noted as together they worked his foot into the boot. He couldn't remember the last time a woman, especially a beautiful woman, touched his foot unless he'd been in a shoe store. He watched as she laced a boot. "Carlisle."

"That's right, the whole family was looking for you."

"Oh, Jesus," he said exasperatedly. "I just keep fucking things up worse-I mean messing up things worse than before." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. "You should have left me there."

She finished lacing the other boot, and set his foot gently on the ground.

"You have no idea what I've done," he said, shaking his head.

"I think I do," she said, matter-of-factly, coming to sit on the bed next to him.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "What do you think?"

"I think you violated every rule, every moral you hold dear. I think you behaved like an out-of-control animal."

He winced at her words. "Don't sugarcoat it for me," he joked half-heartedly, stung by how true her words were.

"I think the thought of living like that frightened you so much, you shut down."

He looked her in the eyes, his face drawn with the lingering effects of starvation and his own eyes haunted. "I can't…" he whispered.

She put an arm around his shoulders and leaned her head against his. "You don't have to." She rubbed a circle on his back with her hand. "But it's time you let others help you."

He stilled, lost in his thoughts. She stood up and held out her hands. "Come sit by the fire."

She took his arm as he walked slowly toward the rocking chair set by the mantel. A fire burned low in the hearth. He sat down heavily in the chair.

She pulled the other straight back chair and sat next to him. She stretched her legs out and leaned back.

Charlie looked around the cabin, noting the lack of modern amenities. "I should probably let them know I'm alright." He looked particularly unhappy at the prospect.

"I already have," she said.

"Oh," he said, exhaling. "Thank you."

She shrugged her shoulders. Rising off her chair, she threw a log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. "Would you like to hear the circumstances of my turning?"

He nodded. "Okay."

She stared into the fire for a moment, her golden eyes reflecting the flames. "As I said, I was born on the coast of the White Sea. It was one of the larger villages of the people that would come to be known as the Lapps. I was fourteen when I was married. My husband, Atil, was a few years older than I. The son of a chieftain." The ghost of a smile crossed her face. "It was considered a very good match."

"Fourteen," Charlie whispered.

She smiled at him. "We married young then. Of course, we died young, too. My amma was considered an ancient before she died and she was sixty-one."

She came back to her chair. "I gave birth to two sons. A girl, also. She died as an infant."

Tanya's face was calm as she said this but with his improved vision, Charlie could see the tiny muscles around her eyes tighten. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

She waved a hand. "Last time I counted, I had one hundred seventy-three thousand, five hundred seventeen descendents. I could pass them on the street and never know." She cocked her head. "Do you have any Scandinavian blood?"

"No," he said, taken aback. "My people were mostly English and Scotch. At least I think so."

"Hmmm," she murmured. She stared into the fire a bit longer. "Well, I was made by a passing nomad when I was twenty. And at that tender age, I was a matriarch among the villagers and a mother of two sons. The vampire snatched me from our yurt in the dead of night and carried me up into the hills, where I burned for three days. Perhaps he had been hoping for a mate. But I was so angry at what he'd done, I burned him in his own campfire."

Charlie struggled to keep his emotions from his face. He understood violence, but he'd never condoned it, and the thought of this handsome, young woman ripping someone apart was incongruent with the image he'd had of the blonde beauty he remembered from Bella's wedding.

"Unfortunately for me, I'd incinerated the only creature I knew who could give me answers as to the nature of myself. I tried to go back to my village. I murdered three kinsmen before I realized it was impossible. I couldn't go back to my family, so I began to wander."

Three hours later, she was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, lying on her side, and her head resting on her hand. She'd paused, and was lost in her memories as the fire crackled behind her. Charlie had found it a fascinating story so far, but his weakness was starting to creep up on him, and he found his head resting against the back of the chair.

She looked like a picture out of a magazine, he thought. The penultimate beer commercial. A beautiful blonde stretched out on a fur rug in front of a fireplace. Yet behind the flawless face and youthful mien, there was a mind as old as Methuselah, sharp, watchful and unafraid.

"How do you do it?" he rasped.

She raised her head. "Do what?"

"Stay alive." He gestured with his hand.

"You mean, _want_ to stay alive?"

He nodded.

She raised herself to a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her knees. "The first years were the hardest. It took a while to get used to the idea I'd become a predator of my own kind. There are decades, centuries even, I am not proud of."

She swung around and prodded the fire that had burned low, stirring the ashes into flames with the poker before setting it against the rock hearth. "It was my family for a long time. Watching the generations. Helping them grow and prosper from behind the scenes. I even occasionally introduced myself as a lost cousin."

Her eyes stared off into the distance and she became very still. "For a long time, it was Stefan. He was my mate." Her eyes flicked toward Charlie. "We only get one, you know."

He hadn't breathed in minutes. He had the feeling she was telling him things she hadn't spoken of lightly; these were secrets she kept trapped in her heart.

"I lost him in the Volturi-Rumanian Wars. It was the seventeenth century. Unfortunately, we were on the losing side." She sighed and whispered softly, "He had hair the color of burgundy wine." She laid her cheek on her bent knee. "Four hundred years and I still miss him."

A log in the fire imploded on itself, sending a spray of sparks into the room. She came back to herself and shook her head. "You must be tired. Why don't we get you back into bed so you can rest?"

He was too tired to do anything but what she suggested, so she helped him back into bed. Again, she knelt at his feet to remove his boots as he sat on the edge of the bed, swaying with exhaustion. He didn't even protest when she removed his clothing with a gentle pragmatism. Finally, he was under the covers and closing his eyes, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

She didn't join him in bed that night. Instead, she spent the time in front of the fireplace with her memories. She wondered at the impulse that had made her mention Stefan. He was something she shared very rarely.

His face floated in front of her, and she felt the shadow of his hand on her face. It was a form of self-flagellation, re-living these visions that were as sharp and clear as if they had happened yesterday. She'd pay tomorrow, when the reality of Stefan's loss would weigh on her heart like an anchor. But for tonight, she allowed herself to wander among ghosts, embracing the memories like long-lost friends.

* * *

Yes, I am still updating this, and the other stories as well. You may have noticed that I changed Tanya's background from Slovakian to Nordic. That was on purpose. More to come.

To all my readers and reviewers, big bunches of flowers!


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